


The One

by Seallen



Series: The Nephilim [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Angel Blades, Angels vs. Demons, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Healing, Infernal blades, Minor Character Death, Nephilim, Sex, Super cool angel powers, Telekinesis, Teleportation, Torture, Urban Fantasy, Whipping, but she hates it, the chosen one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 105,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seallen/pseuds/Seallen
Summary: When the balance of Heaven and Hell is deranged,And the battle for Earth has come to pass,One will bind the Angelic and the ProfaneWho shall be our Salvation; or turn all to ash.
Relationships: Christine (Chris) Bell/Stacey Dhaliwal, Hope Grayson & Christine (Chris) Bell, Hope Grayson & Gideon Marshall, Hope Grayson & Raphael, Hope Grayson/Seth|Samael, Lucifer & Seth|Samael, Raphael & Gideon Marshall, Raphael & Seth|Samael, Seth|Samael & Azrael, Seth|Samael & Michael
Series: The Nephilim [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128611
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. I’ll Show You Mine if You Show me Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Hope Grayson is an ordinary person with an ordinary job as a postpartum nurse at her local hospital. Only she has an extraordinary gift—the ability to heal using just her hands.  
> One night shift, she uses this gift in front of the wrong person and she learns she is far from ordinary. She is Nephalim—part angel, part human.  
> And she might just be the one destined to save Heaven and Earth. Whether she likes it or not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can heal others. You said you have always had this power?”  
> “I’ve had it long enough.” She shrugged, forcing herself to loosen her hands. This was starting to feel like an interrogation, and she still had no idea who this guy was. Wariness was starting to replace curiosity, and Hope glanced around, gauging whether she could get out of this chair and outrun him to the nursing station if she had to.  
> “It appears as though you have some control of it, at least.” He sighed, his shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “Although your discretion leaves something to be desired.”  
> Hope bit back a litany of choice words. “Yeah, well I was a bit busy saving that baby’s life, wasn’t I?” She cocked her head—who did this guy think he was? The pope? “You still haven’t told me who you are. Or what you want.”  
> “I am Raphael,” he said, sounding mildly offended, like a celebrity who hadn’t been recognized.  
> Hope snorted. “Like the Ninja Turtle?”  
> “No, of course not. Teenage Mutant Turtles do not exist. I am an archangel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope learns she is Nephilim. She is less than thrilled. Especially when she gets terrorized by—something.

**PROLOGUE**

“We have a problem. Our brother, Lucifer.”

Michael’s rich, low voice rose above the others’ talking, silencing them as he stood at the head of the large, rectangular glass table in the middle of the council chamber, hands gripping the sides. Raphael followed his dark blue eyes as they scanned each of his siblings in turn, Gloria’s pewter hilt jutting above his shoulder, its row of five stones twinkling beneath the pale violet light of the chamber: amethyst, citrine, quartz, hematite, and rose quartz. At either end, an additional setting, each empty.

Michael lowered himself into his chair, waving his hand toward Raphael. “We have learned Lucifer has been amassing an army of demons,” Raphael began, scanning the room, meeting everyone’s level gaze. “We believe that he is planning to wage another Great War.”

“But why now? Father has been missing for some time. And how have you uncovered this information?” Uriel sneered, his glance shifting briefly up to the sword at Michael’s back. Nearly every time Uriel opened his mouth at these meetings, it was to second-guess what someone else said. Archangel of Wisdom, indeed. Apparently, he failed to remember the wisdom in keeping one’s mouth shut.

“I have a…source among Lucifer’s inner circle,” Raphael said. “This source has exposed himself to great personal risk by providing us with this information. I will not endanger them further by revealing their identity.” Raphael gave Uriel a sidelong look.

“I wonder why anyone in Lucifer’s ‘inner circle’ would bother helping us at all,” Uriel argued, his watery blue eyes darting back to Gloria again before he continued. “Surely all of them have been working toward this goal for centuries. They’d like nothing more than another Great War.” He glared at Raphael, who pursed his lips, but chose not to speak. It would not do to lose his temper.

“I wonder why you think Raphael had nothing better to do than question the motives of someone while they were volunteering vital information,” Gabriel said, turning her narrowed silver-blue eyes toward Uriel, her tight brown curls swinging at her shoulders. “I don’t think he’d enjoy having an infernal blade stuck in his back.”

Uriel turned to Gabriel, his expression placid. “I just want to ensure the information is trustworthy.” He shifted his gaze back to Michael. “We would be foolish to act on the word of any demon without getting all the facts.” If only Uriel knew which _demon_ was spying for Raphael, he might have a different opinion. But Raphael remained silent.

“Indeed. The word of any demon, even one close to our brother, is not enough. But when you take the other signs into account, it does appear as though Lucifer is preparing for a war.” Michael sighed, placing his elbows on the table, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. “I’d hoped even with Father gone, Lucifer would be content with ruling the demonic realm, but I fear his ambition and resentment of us has not diminished over the centuries.”

“What signs? Why haven’t we discussed them sooner?” Uriel pushed his hands against the table as if preparing to stand, but Michael shot him a quelling look and he lowered himself back into his seat, scowling.

“I have noticed a particular decline of new souls ascending to Heaven. Conversely, an unusually large number have been condemned to Lucifer’s realm,” said Azrael, flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder, drawing her brows together. “I attributed it to a general decline in morality among the humans, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Lucifer has become more aggressive as well,” added Raphael. “Not only is he dispatching larger groups of lesser demons to Earth, corrupting more souls, but he has also begun to send his upper-level demons as assassins, eradicating our Nephilim warriors.” Raphael felt a wave of sadness as he spoke. Just over a half-dozen of his Nephilim remained, the lowest number they’d had in decades, maybe centuries. Not nearly enough to win this war.

“And we cannot discount the idea that Lucifer is exerting undue influence on human civilization to create more of the damned,” added Azrael. “I mean, Donald Trump is now president of the most important nation in their world. Even among so-called civilized nations, nationalism, racism, and genocide have become rampant. You cannot tell me Lucifer did not have a hand in that.” Uriel glowered at her, opening his mouth to speak, but Michael censored him with a cutting glance.

“Enough. We need to decide what we can do to prevent Lucifer from starting another Great War, if there is anything we _can_ do. Otherwise, we need to strategize how to defeat him. With Father gone, we do not have the means to reclaim demons as he did to end the last one.”

“But what about the prophesy?” asked Gabriel, her eyes skimming to Azrael.

“Not that nonsense again.” Uriel leaned back in his chair, rolling his head back. “The prophesy isn’t even clear whether the union of ‘the Angelic and the Profane’—whatever that means—could save us or burn everything to the ground. It’s not exactly reassuring.” Azrael turned her violet eyes to him, giving him a withering look, but said nothing. “Perhaps we need some time to formulate a strategy—one which doesn’t rely on a pretty piece of poetry. I propose we adjourn and meet again once we have all had a chance to consider some ideas.”

“A wise decision, indeed, Uriel. Let us meet again in one lunar cycle. That should give each ministry a chance to convene and come up with potential solutions. If there is no further business,” the other council members shook their heads, “I call for this meeting to end.” Michael placed his hands on the table, pushing to stand, the others following his lead. Uriel was already out the door—Raphael could practically see the impatience following in his wake.

“Can we talk for a minute? Outside?” Raphael did not hear Gabriel approach him; she spoke so quietly he could barely hear her over the shuffle of chairs and feet as the others left. He nodded, and she followed him out of the chambers into a small hallway, waiting until it was vacant before speaking.

“Azrael told me she noticed an unusual drop in the number of deaths in one small region on Earth. Several people who had been marked just…weren’t anymore. She wondered if maybe it’s worth investigating. Perhaps a rogue Nephilim? It wouldn’t be the first time…”

“Perhaps. Did she happen to tell you where?” Raphael wondered why Azrael did not report to him directly but decided not to press. Intelligence was important, regardless of the source.

“Even better. She showed me.” Gabriel opened a light brown hand, palm up, and a large image of the globe flickered to life above it. She moved the fingers of her other hand to spin it until she found the right location. “Here,” she pointed.

“I will investigate this immediately. If it is indeed the work of an unknown Nephilim…”

“We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

**CHAPTER 1**   
**I’ll Show You Mine if You Show me Yours**

Hope sank into a chair next to her best friend, Chris, crossing her legs. “Only three more enchanting hours to go,” she said, with all the sarcasm she could muster in the middle of the night. The shift on the postpartum floor of Victoria General Hospital had been uneventful so far, and Hope would be delighted if it stayed that way.

The hospital was so much different at night, the lights dimmer, the floor quieter without the constant buzz and bustle of visitors and daytime staff. Even the babies were finally asleep, after exhausting their parents with the non-stop feeding that always started in the late evening and lasted until the wee hours. It was almost peaceful.

Chris sat at the nurses’ station, playing some game on her phone, but she looked up at the sound of Hope’s voice. “Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and put her phone down, brushing her dark auburn hair out of her eyes. Hope pulled out her hair clip and re-fastened it; her hair had already started to come free, wisping into unruly strands that blew into her face. Then she leaned back in the chair.

“Yeah. But you could spend some of that time telling me how the wedding plans are going.” Chris’s face lit up as she pulled her chair closer. Her brown eyes glowed, her fair, plump face flushed, obscuring the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. God, she was so in love. Hope _was_ happy for them, but it would be weird to attend their wedding—was it really less than two months away?

It would be her first wedding since she and Jake split.

“Stace has her outfit picked out. Finally. And I only have one more fitting left, Oh, that reminds me—can you remember to stop by the dress shop on your days off? I picked out a couple of options for you to try on. Nothing fancy but…”

Hope rolled her eyes, grinning. “I won’t forget. I take my best-woman responsibilities _very_ seriously.” Chris opened her mouth to say something—probably sarcastic—but a high-pitched buzzing cut her off.

The emergency bell. Hope jerked her head toward a panel on the wall to see where the alarm came from as she leaped from the chair.

The nursery.

She and Chris dashed down the hall. Turned right into the main nursery, where another two nurses, Sarah and Colleen, hunched over a baby on the resuscitator table, under the hot, bright light. The overhead lights were bright in here, too. Hope had to blink a few times to adjust as she approached them.

The baby was still, not breathing, his skin a dusky purplish-blue. Sarah held a mask against his face, using a valve on the side to breathe for him while Colleen did chest compressions, wrapping her hands around the baby’s upper body, squeezing her thumbs against his tiny ribcage.

“Call a code blue,” barked Sarah without looking up. Chris turned on her heel and flew from the room while Hope approached the baby. She attached monitors to his wrist and chest as the other two continued CPR. Chris barely returned before Hope heard the code being announced over the loudspeaker. She didn’t have much time.

“Chris and I will take over,” Hope said, reaching for the mask. “You look out for the code team.”

“Sarah and I have it,” Colleen replied, not breaking rhythm.

“No. Chris and I have it.” Hope gave Colleen a hard look. “Move.” She reached for the mask again, hip-checking Sarah, who threw her hands up in disgust as she moved over. Chris pushed Colleen aside, taking over the chest compressions.

“You don’t have to be the goddamn hero every time, Hope. We were doing fine.”

“Just go get the team,” snapped Chris. Then, once the other two nurses were out of earshot, “You’d better hurry.” Hope dropped the mask beside the baby as Chris took her hands away—Hope knew without looking that Chris would play interference. The monitors blared as the baby’s heart rate slowed to a crawl.

Hope took a deep breath, placing her hands on the baby, palms covering his chest and tummy. She closed her eyes and continued to breathe, tuning out the monitor alarms, letting everything other than she and the baby fall away. A familiar warmth began to grow over her palms, and she slowly opened her eyes.

White light flared between her fingers, over the baby’s body, growing in intensity. Her hands started to burn, like she was holding them over a stove element. But she kept them there, focusing all her energy on him, willing him back to life.

It was too much; her hands were on _fire_. This baby was close to the brink. If he didn’t—

She heard a small gasp and the baby’s cry filled the silence around her. Hope tore her hands away, her knees buckling; she grasped the side of the warmer to keep from falling to the floor. Chris returned just ahead of the team, sliding over to Hope’s side, grabbing her around the waist to steady her, her other hand on the baby. She eased Hope back up to stand, then half-walked, half-dragged her away as the team took over.

Hope knew they would find nothing wrong. The baby was fine, healed, perfect. Sarah and Colleen would give the team a verbal report, the team would do a full exam, then take the baby to the NICU for monitoring. They would probably even call the baby’s recovery a miracle.

Chris and Hope made it as far as the other side of the nursery, to the part set up for family members to bring the babies so that mothers could sleep. Chris eased Hope into one of the tall-backed chairs, then left to get her some water.

That’s when Hope noticed a man standing in the doorway. He looked stricken; his thick, curly blond hair falling in waves to his shoulders, his cobalt-blue eyes wide with alarm. He wore the usual jeans-and-disheveled-t-shirt uniform as most new fathers, but he looked different, out of place. Hope couldn’t figure out why.

She made her best attempt to look normal, knowing she probably looked anything but. Healings always took a lot out of her, and this one had been close. Too close. She felt dizzy and nauseous, her whole body covered in a slimy, cold sweat. She bet she was the same colour as the wall behind her.

The team wheeled the baby away just as Chris returned, giving the father a strange look as she handed Hope a plastic cup filled with ice water. Hope knew why—most parents would have gone with the baby, but he didn’t leave. Maybe he was still in shock or—no. The stranger looked more composed, but his gaze was still intense, as if he were trying to peer into Chris’s very soul.

Hope took a large sip of water, barely stopping herself from guzzling it down, watching the bizarre exchange of glances.

Finally, Chris, asked, “Are you the baby’s father?” The man shook his head as his piercing stare moved to Hope. And he seemed to grow taller, towering over her as he stepped closer. Hope felt herself shrink back into the chair.

“No.” His voice was expressionless, matching his face.

“Oh, are you another relative, then?”

“No.” The man continued to advance, stopping barely a foot away. “I need to speak with her,” he said, pointing at Hope. “Alone.” Hope didn’t like the sound of that. Clearly, neither did Chris, because she stood, placing herself between them.

Then Hope watched her friend’s entire posture change, softening, relaxing. She turned back to Hope, and Hope felt her stomach drop—Chris looked like she was under some sort of spell. “I’ll be right outside, okay?” And then she just walked out.

“What the hell did you do to her?” asked Hope, turning her gaze back on the stranger. She curled her fingers tightly around the arm of the chair, half-poised to flee. Not that she’d make it very far; she wasn’t even close to recovered enough yet.

“How did you do that?” the man asked, answering her question with one of his own. She hated that.

“Do what?” she retorted, lobbing the ball back in his court.

“You healed that baby. It was dead, and then you healed it. How?” Damn it. He’d seen her. She’d always been careful not to let anyone see what she could do—besides Chris. And the very few times someone else did, it was easy to convince them otherwise—people didn’t like what they couldn’t understand.

Somehow, she didn’t think she’d be able to convince him. She took a shaky breath, trying to coax some sort of calm over her body, but her hand trembled as she took another large gulp of water.

I…don’t know,” Hope confessed. That much was true. She didn’t know how it worked, didn’t know why she had this weird ability to heal people that no one else did. “But that baby wasn’t dead. I can’t bring back the dead.” She should know; she’d tried once. Once was enough.

“So, you _must_ be Nephilim,” the man muttered, more to himself than to Hope, his voice so low she couldn’t be sure she heard him correctly. Did he say _Nephilim_? “But why could I not find you?” he asked, more loudly.

He’d been looking for her? Hope’s gut clenched at the thought, but she tried not to show it. “You did find me. I’m right here,” she replied, being deliberately obtuse.

“No, I meant sooner,” he replied, turning his attention back to her. “What is your name?”

“Hope,” she said, pointing at her name tag. “Hope Grayson. Who the hell are you?” The man didn’t answer, just made a scornful noise deep in his throat. Hope couldn’t tell if he disapproved of her name or the situation.

“I am tasked with seeking and training Nephilim as soon as their powers present themselves. You, _Hope Grayson_ , are nearly too old to train.” He crossed his arms, frowning at her like he was accusing her of hiding from him on purpose.

“Too _old_? I still get carded at the liquor store,” she retorted. This guy was too much. She narrowed her eyes, gripping the chair again as she leaned closer. “And what the hell is a Nephilim?” She _did_ hear him correctly.

“I will explain in a moment,” the strange man said, waving his hand dismissively. “You can heal others. You said you have always had this power?”

“I’ve had it long enough.” She shrugged, forcing herself to loosen her hands. This was starting to feel like an interrogation, and she still had no idea who this guy was. Wariness was starting to replace curiosity, and Hope glanced around, gauging whether she could get out of this chair and outrun him to the nursing station if she had to.

“It appears as though you have some control of it, at least.” He sighed, his shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “Although your discretion leaves something to be desired.”

Hope bit back a litany of choice words. “Yeah, well I was a bit busy saving that baby’s life, wasn’t I?” She cocked her head—who did this guy think he was? The pope? “You still haven’t told me who you are. Or what you want.”

“I am Raphael,” he said, sounding mildly offended, like a celebrity who hadn’t been recognized.

Hope snorted. “Like the Ninja Turtle?”

“No, of course not. Teenage Mutant Turtles do not exist. I am an archangel.”

Hope laughed, but it was without humor. “Oh, yeah, because those are totally real,” she said, rolling her eyes. She’d heard enough. He was clearly just bonkers and she’d wasted enough time humoring him. She rose from her chair, intending to leave, and Raphael lunged forward like he was going to grab her arm. She jerked it away, glaring at him.

“I can assure you, I am ‘totally real’,” Raphael said, lifting his surprisingly delicate hand, palm-up, a ball of white light rising from it. It looked just like the light that came from Hope’s hands as she healed. It was bright and _very_ white and would definitely attract attention. She rushed forward, trying to cover it with her body before anyone could see it.

“Put that away! Anyone could walk in here!”

“Now you are concerned about discretion,” he sighed. But he closed his hand around the ball, extinguishing it. “You are Nephilim. The product of a union between an angel and a human.” He angled his head. “Did your parents never mention any of this to you?”

“I’ve never met my father,” Hope muttered. “And my mother is no angel.”

Raphael studied her face as if looking for a family resemblance. Oh God, was he— “That is strange,” Raphael said, but didn’t elaborate. And Hope wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her mother had told Hope that her dad had died right after she was born, but what if she’d been lying? What if he was an angel?

What if he was this guy?

“That would be just about perfect,” she said without thinking. But Raphael didn’t seem to hear her. He just frowned, peering closer at her, making her feel like a lab rat.

In an unfamiliar maze.

“And even stranger that I cannot sense you like I can the others,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “It is why I did not come to you sooner.”

“That’s the strangest part of this little scenario?” she asked, feeling her eyebrows shoot into her hairline. When he didn’t respond, she shrugged, rolling her eyes. Why was she still here? Even she didn’t know, but— “Okay then, how did you find me now?”

“Azrael, the Archangel of Death, reported an unusual number of people slated for death who did not die. There are always a few, but the number from this area in the last few months appeared…concentrated.”

The angel of death? There was such a thing? This was really too much; this guy’s story was bordering on a pitch for a TV series. She backed away from him, turning toward the nursery door. Toward the exit, toward other people.

“I have been waiting here for the last week for some sign of you,” he said to her back. “I was about to return to Heaven when I heard the alarm.” Hope rolled her eyes, throwing her head back. Not saved by the bell, then. She should have let Sarah and Colleen handle it, for once. It was time to get the hell out of here, away from this weirdo.

“I have to get back to work. We’ll have to talk about this whole Nephilim thing another time.” Hope was _done_. She headed to the door, but Raphael managed to get around her, blocking her path.

“No, you do not understand. You must come with me now. You are not safe here. If I can find you, so can Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? Like the _devil_?” She threw up her hands, stepping back, creating more space between the two of them. She finally felt well enough that she thought she could beat him out the other door. Probably. “Now I know you’re crazy. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She turned toward it, but he slid in front of her again.

“This is why I should have found you sooner. So willful.” Raphael let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Very well. I will meet you after your shift and I will explain everything.” Then he vanished on the spot. Hope glanced around, but there was no trace of him.

If she didn’t know better, she might’ve thought she imagined the whole thing.

#

Hope stepped off the elevator, turning toward the hallway leading to the parking lot entrance. _Finally,_ this crazy night was over. Whatever the stranger had done to Chris appeared to wipe her memory of him; just as well since Hope had no intention of telling her anything about that bizarre exchange. Instead, she finished her shift, finding just enough to do to keep herself from having to think about it all that much.

Just as she rounded the corner, the overhead fluorescent lights shut off, plunging her into darkness.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she cursed, letting her work bag fall to the ground, rummaging for the mini flashlight, probably hidden at the bottom. She plunged her hand past all the larger objects in the bag, grasping one thing after another until her fingers finally closed around the light. Twisting it on, she held it with one hand while she picked up her work bag again, focusing the light down the length of the hallway.

And felt her heart lunge into her throat at the figure standing in front of the door, motionless and silent. Hope couldn’t recognize it in the dim light, but it didn’t look right.

It didn’t look human.

“Hello?” The figure did not respond. Hope stepped forward, pointing the flashlight right at it. But the light still didn’t quite reach.

“You’re not supposed to be here. This area is for staff only.” Hope walked further, until she was only a few feet away. Close enough she should be able to make out its features.

The light shone against the door. But whoever or whatever was in front of it remained completely dark and still. As if cloaked in perpetual shadow. Hope felt her pulse quicken, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

She stepped back; there was another door to the parking lot, just down the hall behind her. As soon as she moved, the shape followed, a night-dark swirling shadow silently gliding toward her. Hope spun on her heel and sprinted down the hallway, her heart pounding in her ears, her breath becoming short and ragged, her bag thudding painfully against her thigh.

She turned right, darting down the long hallway toward the cafeteria. After a few steps, the lights flared back on overhead, the corridor now almost too bright. But Hope didn’t stop. Didn’t check if that thing was still after her. Halfway down the hall, she turned right again. Dashed toward the door at the end, pushing the bar with all her strength, the door banging against the building as she raced through it into the still-dark parking lot.

After sprinting a few more steps, Hope stopped dead. Then whirled around, peering through the closing door for the figure.

The corridor was empty.

She waited until the door shut, adrenaline coursing through her body, making her feel queasy. Swallowing her nausea, she headed back to the first door, ready to run if anything came out, stifling a scream as it opened. But it was only a group of other nurses, laughing and chatting as they headed to their cars.

Hope dropped her bag from her shoulder, letting her heart rate return to normal, shaking her hands, trying to dispel some of the nervous energy before heading to her car.

And just before she reached it, she started at another shadowy figure, outlined by the light pouring down from the parking lot standard, standing in front of her sky-blue hatchback. But this one was human. Or at least human-like. As she approached, she could see it was Raphael.

Ugh. She had completely forgotten about his promise to talk to her. “I can’t deal with you right now,” she said, unlocking the passenger door and tossing her work bag on the seat. “I’m too damn tired.”

“I do not think you understand—”

“No, you don’t understand. Some asshole decided to scare the shit out of me in the hallway and I just want to get home and sleep.” She slammed the door. Raphael stiffened and peered at Hope, as if trying to read her mind.

“What happened? Spare no detail.” Hope told him about the figure, the shadow and how she’d been chased. “It sounds as if a demon were pursing you. The children of Lucifer are no match for a trained Nephilim, but you are vulnerable. You cannot go home; you are in grave danger. You must come with me now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you! How do I know it wasn’t you in the hallway? You could have done all this just to scare me into leaving with you.” Even as she said it, she didn’t believe it. Her years as a nurse taught how to gauge people within seconds of meeting them. Despite Raphael sounding like a lunatic, she knew he was no danger to her. She walked around the car toward the driver’s side.

“You know that is untrue,” he said over the hood. “You may not trust me yet, but you know I will not harm you.” Hope opened her door and got in the car, and Raphael did the same on the passenger side, moving her bag to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He buckled his seatbelt, expressionless. “You will not come with me, so I am going with you.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Hope jerked the key in the ignition. “Anything to get home. When we get there, you’d better tell me what the hell is going on.”

#  
Three Weeks Prior

“You chose an…interesting meeting place.” Uriel remarked, casting a wary eye over the dilapidated cathedral as he closed the creaky, moldy door behind him. “I’m surprised you’re even able to come in here.”

It had probably been a charming place in its time. Now it was a ruin, the plaster fissured in some places along the stone walls—and missing in others. The stained-glass window above the door was broken, the others cracked and coated in grime. The ceiling nothing more than rotting wood; the floor, a few stray boards strewn about, coated with moss and mold. The crumbled marble altar at the far end had probably once been white but was now yellowed with age and neglect.

“This place hasn’t been consecrated in decades. It is no barrier to me,” said the figure sprawled on the weathered steps of the altar.

Lucifer.

In his black, perfectly tailored suit, with his black, perfectly styled hair, he did not belong among this wreckage. He made no effort to rise, waiting for Uriel to cross the room to him. Arrogant bastard. “So, tell me, brother, why have you requested a meeting with me?”

“There has been talk you are…considering an attack on Heaven. That you wish to take over, what with Father gone…” Uriel stopped at the arch closest to the altar, leaning his arm against the crumbling stone, careful not to snag his favorite leather jacket. He crossed one leg in front of the other, then crossed his arms, brushing aside a stray lock of hair. He knew he needed to look casual, like this meeting he’d called didn’t mean nearly as much as it did.

If he was foolish enough to enter a viper’s den, he’d better make sure not to offer his throat.

“Father has been gone for quite some time.” Lucifer inclined his head, his midnight black eyes glittering with barely contained malice. “Why would I have waited so long, if I wished to take over?”

“I will not pretend to know what your motives are, brother. I merely wanted you to know I’m willing to offer my assistance,” Uriel said, keeping his expression neutral.

For just a fraction of a moment—a flash no mortal would detect—a look of surprise crossed Lucifer’s face. Just as quickly, it returned to its impassivity. “That is indeed an interesting development. Care to enlighten me on why you’ve turned against our brethren?”

Uriel inclined one brow, keeping his face as neutral as his brother’s. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Lucifer surprised Uriel by throwing back his head and laughing out loud, a deep, rich sound which made Uriel smile slightly in response.

“Fair enough.” Lucifer pushed off the stairs to stand, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants, and then the arm of his suit jacket. He buttoned the top button of the jacket and straightened his sleeves. “However, I’ll need you to do something for me. Something to demonstrate your trustworthiness. You understand, I’m sure.”

“What would you have me do?” Uriel felt his first prickle of real apprehension.

“I have heard…murmurings of a rogue Nephilim. Do you know anything about him?”

Uriel shrugged. “Not much. There was speculation he might be one from that prophesy of Azrael’s. You know, the one ‘who shall be our salvation, or turn all to ash.’ I think Raphael’s looking for him, but he’s being…him. He’s not giving anything away.”

“I would like for you to find out what you can.” Lucifer paced toward Uriel, his steps slow and silent. “When, or if, our brother contacts him, what powers he has, whether he could be…useful.”

“You want me to spy for you?” Uriel pushed off the archway, retreating from Lucifer’s approach. The prickle of unease became a thorn lodging in his side.

“Ugh, ‘spy’ is such a distasteful word. I wish for you to investigate for me. And I want facts, not speculation. If I learn you are feeding me false information—”

“You’ll what?” Uriel threw up his hands. “Tell Michael? He won’t believe you. You’ll need someone in Heaven to help you if you wish to defeat him—”

“I never said I wanted to defeat anyone, brother. You’re getting ahead of yourself, perhaps.” Uriel clenched his fists at his sides, biting the inside of his cheek. He should’ve remembered how…infuriating Lucifer could be. With effort, relaxed his hands, pasting the same neutral expression on his face as his older brother’s.

“You’ll either have to trust me or not,” he bit out. “I will not stoop to proving my loyalty.”

“Hmm. I’m pleased to find one of my siblings still possesses a spine,” Lucifer replied, lifting one eyebrow. “Very well. You have offered your services; what exactly are you prepared to do for me? And perhaps more importantly, what do you want in return?”

“I can do a great many things for you. I am still part of the Angelic Counsel. I can let you know what happens at the meetings, feed them false rumors of your plans. As well as rally the angels who are unsatisfied with how Michael has chosen to rule Heaven—”

“So that’s why you want to help me so badly,” Lucifer said softly. “You’re not pleased with Michael taking over, even a century later. Why not just oust him yourself? Claim rulership for your own?”

Uriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There are a number of us unhappy with Michael’s rule, but we are not legion. Of our brothers and sisters, only Azrael’s less than thrilled with Michael’s leadership. But even she’s probably not disgruntled enough to betray him. If my followers and I waged a war, we would be annihilated.”

“Ah, I see.” Lucifer slowly made his way toward Uriel until he was only inches away, then leaned closer. “You want me to do the dirty work, while you get to stay safely on the sidelines. That way, if things don’t go your way…” he mused. Then he smiled, a brittle smile, his eyes gleaming with spite. “But what makes you think you’ll be happier with the Archangel of Hell taking over?”

“You’ll make me your second-in-command,” Uriel muttered, lowering his eyes.

“Such ambition! The Archangel of Wisdom willing to sell out his siblings for power.” Lucifer rose, giving him an appraising look. “I already have a left hand. And a right. Why should I—”

“There is no way you’re bringing that… _thing_ up with you,” Uriel spat.

“Now, now, that’s no way to speak about our half-brother,” said Lucifer, the sly smile returning to his face. Uriel glowered at him.

“I’m not talking about him, and you know it. And I’m not selling out the others.” Uriel felt his face go hard; he forced it to relax. “I just think, if you _are_ planning an invasion, I should be on the winning side.”

“Self-preservation. Another trait I can appreciate.” Lucifer pulled away from Uriel, a speculative look in his eyes. “You know, I may have underestimated you, brother. Yes, I believe we can work together.”


	2. Wax On, Wax Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, demons. They exist?” Hope swung open the filter chamber of the coffee maker, tucking a brown paper filter inside. Scooped some grounds into it, frowned, and added more—she had a feeling she would need strong coffee. Then, without bothering to measure, she added water and pressed the start button, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.  
> “Yes, they exist," said Raphael. "They are non-corporeal until they possess a human host. An ordinary human cannot see a demon in its non-corporeal form and cannot tell if one has inhabited a human host. But Nephilim can be taught to see both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope learns more about the Great War, Nephilim, and demons. She's not much more won over, though.  
> Lucifer gets his right-hand man involved.

“I’m going to make some coffee. You want some?” Hope asked Raphael as she turned the key to her apartment door. They stepped inside and Hope removed her work shoes with a sigh of relief, flexing her toes a couple of times before heading down the hallway.

“I do not require food or drink,” Raphael replied, following her.

“Suit yourself. The kitchen is just in there. I’m going to change.” Hope pointed to her left as she continued down the short hallway to the bedroom. She peeled off her clothes, tossing them in a nearby laundry basket, then pulled on a clean tank top and yoga pants before padding, barefoot, into the kitchen.

“So, demons. They exist?” Hope swung open the filter chamber of the coffee maker, tucking a brown paper filter inside. Scooped some grounds into it, frowned, and added more—she had a feeling she would need strong coffee. Then, without bothering to measure, she added water and pressed the start button, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Yes, they exist. They are non-corporeal until they possess a human host. An ordinary human cannot see a demon in its non-corporeal form and cannot tell if one has inhabited a human host. But Nephilim can be taught to see both.” Raphael stood ramrod straight as he spoke, hands at his sides, his bright blue eyes unblinking, boring into hers. It made her nervous. Nervous enough that it took a moment for his words to sink in.

“So that thing that chased me was a bodiless demon?”

“Yes. I admit you must have a great deal of natural power to be able to detect one untrained.” Raphael’s expression softened, his shoulders dropping minutely. Hope felt her own body slump in response.

“Well isn’t that helpful,” Hope said, picking up the pot, pouring the coffee into a mug which said _My blood type is coffee_. She added a generous amount of milk and sugar before taking a giant gulp. “So, do I just go around stabbing at shadowy figures everywhere I go?”

“Absolutely not. A non-corporeal demon has no substance, so regular weapons are useless against it. But even if it were in a host body, you are not remotely prepared to engage a demon in battle. At least not yet.”

“So, you’re going to train me. Will it be like _The Karate Kid_? ‘Wax on, wax off?’” Hope chuckled as she took another big swig of coffee.

Raphael’s brow furrowed. “I do not understand what that means.”

“Never mind; it’s just an old movie.” Hope headed into the living room. It was much larger than expected for her small Rock Bay apartment, and one of the reasons she bought it. A rich chocolate brown sofa stood in the middle of the room, facing a wall-mounted large screen TV. An antique coffee table stood between the couch and TV, and behind the couch sat Hope’s computer desk. Both surfaces were covered in video games, controllers and tabloid magazines. Hope shoved some of the clutter aside, placing the cup on the table and flopping onto the far end of the sofa. She gestured for Raphael to sit, which he did, perching on the other end like he was scared the couch was going to bite him.

“So, what does this have to do with Lucifer? You said if you could find me, so could he. But why the hell would the devil give a damn about me?” She chuckled at her own joke. Raphael did not; Hope’s smile died at the somber expression on his face.

“We believe he is amassing an army to stage an attack on Heaven. He has been trying to find a way back ever since he was banished centuries ago. The Nephilim have always been powerful warriors, defending Earth from the demons who surface to collect new souls. Recently, he has taken to sending up his more powerful soldiers, and even his lieutenants, so he can build an army.” His eyes were steady on hers as he spoke, his expression grave. “There is a rumor—” he began, then cut himself off. “We require your assistance to prevent the next Great War.”

Hope dropped her eyes, reaching for her coffee. “The Great War?” She was almost afraid to ask. But curiosity won out.

“Nearly seven hundred years ago, Lucifer amassed a large army of demons and attempted to battle his way back to Heaven. Before then, his duty was to collect and punish the souls of those who were sent to him. But then he organized stronger demons, sending them to Earth to collect more souls—many of them innocent—generating even more demons. He even—” he stopped himself. “He was barely defeated then, and only because Father used Gloria to reclaim the souls which could be saved.”

“Gloria?” She didn’t remember hearing about anyone named Gloria.

“Father’s sword. He…entrusted it with Michael. It is a powerful weapon, but even in the hands of an archangel, it cannot be used to reclaim souls. With Father missing—”

“Hold on. God’s _missing_?” She whipped her head around to him, nearly dropping her mug. “What, did he just pack a suitcase and yeet right out of Heaven?”

Raphael nodded, the barest crease forming between his eyebrows. “He has been…gone for more than a century. Not a single being knows of his whereabouts. As the eldest, Michael is the rightful ruler of Heaven in Father’s stead.”

“The eldest,” Hope repeated, trying to wrap her mind around what Raphael was telling her. She took a large swallow of coffee, hoping the caffeine would help. “And Michael’s your brother.” Raphael nodded again. “How many of you are there?”

“I have three brothers. Michael, Uriel, and Lucifer. Gabriel and Azrael are my sisters.” For the tiniest moment, Raphael looked a bit uneasy as he listed them off. But his expression smoothed again so quickly Hope wondered if she imagined it.

“Azrael’s the Archangel of Death, right? That’s cool.” She smiled at the idea.

“I will be sure to inform her.” Hope couldn’t tell if he was joking or not; she was inclined to think not. She paused, trying to remember anything she could about archangels—it wasn’t much, mostly from movies and TV shows.

“Michael is the archangel of travel, right? It’s why all those people wear those medallions.”

“He is the Archangel of Protection, tasked with protecting humankind from evil, in all its manifestations, infernal and mundane. However, Lucifer knows Heaven has been vulnerable ever since Father vanished. As I mentioned, Gloria is…not at full power without Father. The Nephilim are our only line of defence against Lucifer and his growing army.” A hint of a wry smile crossed Raphael’s face. “I confess in this modern age Lucifer has no shortage of souls to corrupt.”

Hope’s mind reeled; this was too much to deal with after a night shift, especially the one she just had. She shook her head, trying to clear it, to make sense of it all. “This is all a great story, but even you have to admit it’s a lot to swallow. And I’m not even religious. How can I be part-angel when I never even knew angels existed?”

“Just because you do not believe in something does not make it untrue.” She looked over at him, thinking that he was making fun of her, but his bright blue eyes were steady on hers, a trace of understanding hiding in their depths. Hope turned away, closing her eyes.

“That’s a lot of double negatives, dude.” Hope rested the empty cup against her forehead, staring at the carpet, feeling drained.

She needed sleep. Badly.

“I understand this is a great deal of information to consider.” He sighed, audibly. “You have much to learn and not enough time in which to learn it. I have a location where I can teach you and you can practice without being detected. We should leave as soon as you can prepare your things.”

Hope moved further away from Raphael, uneasy. “You want me to go with you to some secret remote location, so you can train me to do magic? You realize how batshit-crazy that sounds, right? I’m not even fully convinced you aren’t just mental, and you think I’m just going to skip town with you? It’s not happening.” Her heart pounded now, making her feel nauseated.

“Hope, close your eyes.” His voice was calm, not seeming to notice her rising panic as she moved away until her back pressed against the arm of the sofa.

“Oh hell, no.” She shook her head. Raphael sighed.

“If I wished you harm, I had plenty of opportunity. However, if it will ease your mind, I will move to the other side of the room,” Raphael said, rising from the couch and retreating several steps back. “Close your eyes.” Hope reluctantly obeyed, hearing her heart hammer behind her ears, her palms growing slick; she fought the urge to wipe them against her leggings, keeping her body still.

“Turn toward me, and open your eyes, but just enough to let the light in. Try not to focus.” Hope obeyed. After a few moments, she jerked back, the chair arm digging painfully into her back, her eyes flying wide open in shock.

“Holy shit! How’d you do that?” While her eyes were only partially open, she could see—something. It looked like Raphael, only glowing a brilliant white, like he was lit from within. With a great span of glimmering, silver wings, tipped with gold.

“I did not do that. You did. Only Nephilim can see me in my true form. And now you have seen mine. Do you believe me now?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in,” Hope said, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe I need some sleep before I decide. It’s been a _night_.” Raphael took a long look at her, his eyes moving to the wisps of hair she could feel escaping her ponytail, before meeting hers again. She bet the circles under them would put a raccoon to shame. He nodded, once.

“Yes, perhaps that is best. But do not take too much time to decide. You do not have much to spare,” he warned.

And then he vanished.

“Wait! How do I reach you?” Hope asked. He didn’t answer. She was alone. And now that he’d left, she felt the last bit of her energy seep from her body. Without even changing out of her clothes, she staggered to the bedroom, flung herself across her bed and fell instantly to sleep.

#

The sound of Hope’s text message alert woke her later that afternoon. Not just once, but several times in rapid succession.

Ugh. She’d forgotten to put that thing on silent. Rolling onto one side, she grabbed a pillow, pulling it over her head, hoping for just a few more minutes of sleep. She lay there for a while, but her eyes would not stay shut. With a sigh, she threw the pillow to the other side of the bed, the side Jake used to sleep on. Sat up, swiping a mass of tangled curls out of her face. The hair tie must have slipped down in her sleep; only the ends at the back of her head were still bound by it. She pulled them free and stood, heading to the kitchen.

There was still half a pot of coffee from that morning, so instead of making a new one, she poured some of it into her mug, added milk and sugar, and heated it in the microwave. Took a large sip, grimaced in disgust, and dumped it in the sink.

Fuck that.

She made a new pot. While she waited for it to brew, she walked back into the bedroom and retrieved her phone, scrolling through the assault of texts that had woken her.

The first few messages were offers to work overtime that night. Hard pass. The next ones were from some of her co-workers in a group thread.

 **Colleen** :  
who’s off tonight?  
let’s have a girls’ night!!!!

 **Chris** :  
I am!  
pretty sure Hope is, too

 **Sarah** :  
dammit, I’m working tonight  
could always develop a sudden case of the plague though LOL

 **Colleen** :  
so just us three?

 **Lauren** :  
me too! me too!  
I’m at work but can meet you after

 **Sarah** :  
you guys suck  
everyone gets to go but me

 **Colleen** :  
I can be the DD  
it’s more fun watching you bitches get wasted anyway

 **Chris** :  
LOL

 **Lauren** :  
you don’t need to do that, Colleen  
we can take a cab

 **Sarah** :  
have a drink (or 5) for me okay?

 **Chris** :  
HOPE!  
you asshole!  
wake up and let us know if you’re in!

Hope smiled to herself as she prepared a fresh cup of coffee. She took it into the living room and sat, taking a large gulp before she placed it on the table next to the empty cup from this morning. She texted back.

 **Me** :  
I’m in  
what time?

 **Colleen** :  
how about 8?  
and drinks are on you for being such an asshole during that resuscitation

 **Chris** :  
come on Colleen, you know how stressful those things get  
Hope was just trying to help

 **Lauren** :  
I have this great lbd I wanted to wear  
I was saving it for a date, but I haven’t had one in AGES

 **Chris** :  
speaking of dating…

 **Me:**  
don’t even start LOL

 **Lauren** : _  
_ okay, see y’all then!

Hope smiled. Lauren was so sweet. She was the only one who hadn’t tried to pressure Hope into dating again. Probably because she had gone through a divorce herself last year. And Hope needed to do some serious damage control with Colleen; maybe buying her a drink tonight would help.

Speaking of divorce, the last bank of texts was from Jake.

 **Jake** :  
Will you be home later?  
I need to come over and get the rest of my stuff.  
Will you be home?  
Or can I just come over and get it?  
Are you asleep or ignoring me?  
You don’t have to be a bitch about it.  
Just let me know if I can come and get it or not.  
It’s no big deal.

Hope sighed and took another sip of coffee with shaking hands, glancing over at the moving boxes sitting in the far corner of the dining room floor. The ones that had been sitting there for months. She didn’t know why he suddenly needed them so badly; those messages were all sent within 20 minutes. She texted back.

 **Me** :  
I won’t be home, but you can come and get your stuff.  
Leave the keys when you go.

She decided not to even touch the part about being a bitch. The last thing she needed was a character assassination before she even finished her coffee. She sat back on the couch, scrolling idly through her apps while she sipped. Then she looked at the time; it was already four in the afternoon. If she wanted to get in a run and have enough time to get ready for tonight, she’d better get moving. She drained her coffee, changed into her favourite running shirt and leggings, wrestled her tangles into their elastic prison once more, and headed out the door.

#

“Ah Samael, there you are. Come in, come in.” Lucifer waved Samael into his private chamber, a large, dark, windowless room on the second-highest level of the Hall of Anguish. He sat at the edge of his stark, simply furnished bed, but reclined back on his hands as Samael entered, shutting the door behind him. The place looked more like a dungeon than a bedroom, the glassy obsidian walls bare except for the four sets of shackles evenly spaced around the circular room. The only other furnishings were the simple wardrobe to the left of the bed, and a short, wide bookshelf beside that, filled with red-leather-bound books. Samael stepped warily toward Lucifer, eyes narrowed as he looked around.

Samael _hated_ this room. It was far too oppressive, the lack of windows making it worse. At least the chains lay empty, pooled in heaps on the flagstone floor. But if Samael looked closely enough, he would probably still be able to see bloodstains beneath them.

Lucifer flicked his hand and a chair appeared, a ridiculous red plush thing that couldn’t have been more out of place in this room if it tried. Samael rolled his eyes, knowing that Lucifer was fucking with him. Still, he cautiously lowered himself onto it, Lucifer’s lips curving up in a smile as he leaned further back, his matching blood-red silk robe opening slightly at the neck.

“I have news. Of the Nephilim.” Lucifer’s black eyes danced with excitement. That’s never a good thing.

“The Nephilim?” Samael frowned, trying to remember what, if anything, Lucifer had mentioned before. “You mean the ones in Paris? I thought you had already dispatched a team to them—”

“No, no. _The_ Nephilim. I had one of my pets track Raphael and he led it right to _her_.”

“Her?” Now Samael remembered. “I thought Uriel said—”

“He must have been misinformed. Or perhaps he simply did not know.” Lucifer waved his hand dismissively. “There is no doubt she is…unique. In any case, we now know where she is, where she works and, soon enough, we’ll know where she lives—”

“What do you mean, ‘soon enough’?” Samael interrupted. “Didn’t your _pet_ follow them to her house?”

“No.” Lucifer’s face tightened. “It was too excited about reporting her to me.” Samael tried not to wince. He’d bet his eternal life the demon regretted that mistake. Deeply.

“I would like for you to find her. And keep an eye on her.” He sat up, smoothing his hands down the robe at his thighs. “I want to know everything. Where she lives. What powers she has. If she could be…useful to us.”

Samael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was Lucifer’s second-in-command, his left hand, and he was being sent on a mission to spy on some Nephilim brat? He covered up his irritation by running his hands along the arms of the chair, then curling his fingers around them, pushing up to stand. Keeping his face impassive, he met Lucifer’s eyes again. “Whatever you wish, brother.”

“Excellent. I will expect a report once you find something…interesting.” Lucifer stood, striding toward his wardrobe, his back to Samael. Samael took that for the dismissal it was, stalking toward the door, using all his restraint to avoid ripping it from its hinges. He slammed it behind him with much more force than he intended. Once he reached the hallway, he exhaled loudly through his nose, fists clenched.

“By the devil.” Lucifer could have sent any of his lesser demons to gather information. So, either this Nephilim was even more important than Lucifer let on, or—wait. Lucifer said he’d used Raphael to find her. That must mean—Samael needed to talk to the demon who’d tailed them.

Then to Raphael.


	3. How to Detect a Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope started to smile, but it froze on her face as she noticed a man staring at her from across the bar. Dark hair, almost too long, falling into one eye, just brushing his collar. A smirk that dared her to approach him. And cheekbones that could cut glass. As she met his stare, she could feel her heart start to race. She was sure she’d never seen him before, but she felt drawn to him, like they were connected by some invisible tether. A tether currently stretched far too tight.  
> Without a word, Hope set down her drink and slid off the barstool. She nervously pulled down the hem of her own little black dress as she picked her way across the crowd toward him, feeling the invisible tether shorten and strengthen. Her pulse thundered in her ears, even over the loud music, making her edgy. She wove around one last couple and then—  
> He was gone. Just like that. The connection snapped like a rubber band, stinging her like a physical snap across her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope tells Raphael she's out, and he doesn't take it well, especially when he gets some inside information.  
> Then, on her girls' night out, Hope has an encounter. Then another one when she gets home.  
> 

Hope spent most of her run thinking about Raphael and what to make of him. She barely noticed the grey drizzle misting her face, the dark clouds cast low over the ocean as she passed the few dog walkers braving the chill along Dallas Road. She did notice when it began to grow darker; she turned around and headed back, the conversation from this morning playing over in her head.

 _Because_ she’d slept, the whole morning seemed hazy, as if it had been one of those crazy dreams she frequently had when sleeping off a night shift. What if Raphael _was_ just a lunatic, convinced he was an archangel? But he’d conjured up that white ball of energy, not to mention those wings.

She could’ve just been exhausted and was seeing things, but she _knew_ what she saw was real. That _he_ was real.

And what kind of training did Raphael have in mind? Would she have classes like in Harry Potter? She smiled at the thought of taking a course like _How to Detect a Demon_ or—if she was part angel, did that mean she could fly? Or at least do that vanishing thing Raphael did? That would be cool.

She shook her head as she returned to her car, shaking the excess rain from her jacket. Of course she wasn’t going to just pick up and leave to go train with some strange archangel. She wasn’t some teenager, just beginning their life with no obligations. She had a job, and a mortgage, and—well, not a husband anymore, but she still couldn’t just abandon her whole life. She had commitments, friends—oh crap, she had to remember to go to the dress shop. Maybe tomorrow.

Besides, she didn’t even know why Raphael was bothering with her. He said himself she was nearly too old. Did he think she was going to be some saviour, some secret weapon to win the next Great War? She didn’t even believe in Heaven, let alone care who ruled it. There was no good reason to uproot her life to get involved in a battle that had nothing to do with her.

“Raphael?” Hope called, after she had returned to her apartment, feeling foolish about calling some archangel’s name in the middle of her living room. “Raphael? Can you hear me?” Hope waited several moments, feeling stupider by the second when she got no response. Maybe she did dream the whole thing up.

She sighed and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, chugging it as she walked to the bedroom, placing the empty glass on her dresser. Just as she peeled off her damp, sweaty socks, she noticed a movement in her peripheral vision. She turned toward it, then startled when she realized Raphael stood in her bedroom doorway.

“Jesus! You scared the crap out of me!”

“I apologize. I was unable to arrive as soon as you called. I was…indisposed,” he said, frowning slightly.

“Indisposed?” Hope raised one eyebrow. “What, were you in the bathroom or something?”

“I have no use for a toilet.” She gave him a sidelong look, again wondering if he was joking, then deciding he wasn’t.

“Anyway, I called you to tell you I’m out. I’m not even sure I believe all…this, but even if I do, your war has nothing to do with me. I’m not going to just up and leave my job, my friends, my _life_ to be your saviour or whatever.” She ducked around Raphael and headed down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Hope, I do not believe you understand,” he said, following her. “Your life is in danger. You cannot remain here.”

“Why? Was it that dude in the hallway? I’ll just carry some pepper spray or something.” She paused at the bathroom door.

“Even lesser demons will not be deterred by something as mundane as pepper spray. And I suspect _that_ demon has already informed Lucifer about you.” Raphael sighed. “Lucifer is attempting to wage a _war_. If he knows you, a potentially powerful yet untrained Nephilim is at his disposal, he will do anything to find you. Perhaps even send a stronger, greater demon to retrieve you—you would be no match for it.” Raphael leaned on the doorjamb, his eyes darkening, his face troubled.

“I could take some time off work. They don’t know where I live right?”

“I do not know. If that lesser demon followed us, Lucifer most certainly does. But even if it did not, it is only a matter of time before he finds out.” Raphael huffed out a sigh. “And if Lucifer cannot get to you directly, he will not hesitate to lure you out of hiding using your loved ones. Are you willing to risk their lives, as well as your own?” He gave her a hard look, his eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Hope’s breath caught; she felt like she’d just been punched in the stomach.

“Of course not,” she whispered, slumping forward, clutching the counter. “But if I leave with you, can’t he still get to them? Use them, to get me to come back?”

“I can send others to watch them. To guard them. I have other Nephilim,” he said. Hope was reeling—there had to be another way. Another way out of this, which didn’t involve her uprooting her entire life, putting everyone she loved in danger.

Then she thought of something.

“Say he doesn’t know where I live yet. What if I just stop healing people? You told me you couldn’t detect me like the other Nephilim,” she argued, pulling a towel from the hook behind the door. “So maybe they can’t, either. And that hallway _was_ pretty dark. The demon probably didn’t even get a good enough look at me. Without my ability, I’d look just like a normal person, not some human-angel freak. You said yourself the only reason you found me was because I healed that baby.” She knew it wouldn’t work, knew it as soon as she said it. If Raphael was right, Lucifer wouldn’t stop till her found her, whether she used her ability or not. Still, she raised her head, meeting his gaze through the mirror above the twin sinks.

“You would be willing to continue with your line of work, letting people die before your eyes when you knew you could help them?” he asked, his soft voice somehow making the question harsher. Hope felt tears of frustration prick the corners of her eyes.

“That’s not fair. You can’t make me choose between other people’s lives and my own. It’s not _fair_.”

“I am not asking you to do anything of the sort,” he replied, not unkindly. “You were the one who spoke of suppressing your powers. I want you to understand the magnitude of that decision. I do not think you would allow someone to perish in the interest of self-preservation.” He sighed, heavily, but his face softened somewhat. “I am not saying these things to frighten you. Yes, I hope you will train with me, to learn to control your gifts, that you will join our side and help us win this unnecessary war. But regardless of whether you choose to fight or not, you _are_ in danger. If Lucifer finds you, he will attempt to use you as a weapon. If you resist, he will destroy you.”

“Ugh,” sighed Hope, pushing against the counter. “This is too much. I can’t think about it anymore for a while. I need more time.”

Raphael frowned at her through the mirror. “You cannot procrastinate forever. Every day you put off a decision is another day you remain in danger.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Meanwhile, I have to meet my friends in less than an hour, so I’m getting in the shower.” Hope pulled off her running shirt and reached behind her back for the clasps to her sports bra, giving him a sly look through the mirror. “You staying for the show?”

“I believe I will take my leave now,” Raphael said, straightening himself, his cheeks turning pink. “Do not take too long to deliberate.”

He vanished.

“Well, what do you know,” Hope said to herself, taking off the rest of her clothes and stepping into the bathtub. “Apparently archangels _can_ be embarrassed.”

#

“She is indeed Nephilim, but she is no rogue. She has highly developed healing abilities, but I am not certain what else she can do. And she is willful. Stubborn. Probably too set in her mundane life to be willing to train.” Raphael frowned, staring at the door to his office, his gaze unfocused.

Azrael and Gabriel sat across from him with twin looks of concern.

“You _must_ train her, Raphael. She cannot heal everyone without consequence. The balance of life and death must be maintained.” Azrael tented her fingers on the citrine desk, leaning closer to Raphael.

“And what do you mean, too set in her life? How old is she?” Gabriel asked, angling her head.

“I am not certain, but she is a grown adult and is more concerned about her job than her birthright. I have tried to convince her to come here, but she is reluctant. She has already had one encounter with a demon. I pray she does not have another before—” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling noisily, distressed that he was unable to sense her. Even now, he worried that she might be in danger, that Lucifer or one of his minions had located her.

“What kind of encounter? Did she have to fight?” asked Gabriel, her eyes widening.

“Thankfully, no. The demon was non-corporeal. But it does concern me. Greatly. It almost certainly was spying for Lucifer; he must know about her by now.” He sighed again. “His greater demons have dispatched some of my most powerful soldiers. They could easily slay her, unarmed and untrained.”

“What about Sammy? Can’t you ask him if Lucifer knows?”

“I have not told Samael about her. And I do not plan to. Our agreement is for _him_ to provide _me_ with information, not the other way around,” Raphael said. But if Lucifer knew about the Nephilim—Samael was his second-in-command. He would surely know about her, as well. Perhaps he _could_ provide some information—Azrael gave Raphael a knowing look as she tossed her thick black hair over her shoulder, spinning a silver ring around her index finger, clearly thinking the same thing.

Just then, Raphael stiffened, hearing a call in his head. But not the Nephilim.

Unfortunately.

He pushed his hands against the desk to stand. “I must take my leave. Gabriel, please see if you can locate a source who can tell us what, if anything, Lucifer knows about the Nephilim. Azrael, please inform me if any other souls are diverted from Heaven.” The other two archangels rose from their chairs.

“Where are you going?”

Raphael gave Gabriel a withering look. She _was_ a nosy thing. “If you must know, I am meeting with Samael.” Raphael frowned, a growing sense of unease coming over him.

“Well,” Gabriel murmured, “speak of the devil.” Then she grinned. “Ooh, I bet he already knows about her,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “Now you can ask what Lucifer knows.”

Raphael glowered at her. “That is enough. Off you go.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Gabriel waggled her fingers at Raphael as she followed Azrael out of the office, but just as she reached the door, she turned back. “Tell Sammy I said ‘hi.’” Raphael frowned at her, shaking his head. Gabriel giggled, then left.

#

“Samael. This is a most…unusual meeting place.” Raphael tried to keep his voice calm as he approached the small table in the back of a coffee shop, only a short distance from Hope’s house. Samael snapped his head up, his ink-black hair swaying out of his face as he pushed the large, untouched mug of coffee aside. He gave Raphael a lazy smile, his slate blue eyes belying his relaxed expression.

“Please,” said Samael, waving his hand toward the seat opposite him. Raphael could not help but feel apprehensive as he perched on the edge of the chair. This location was too great a coincidence; Samael _must_ know about Hope.

And where she lived.

Raphael tried to keep his face impassive, fighting his rising unease as he scanned the café for any hint of other demons. “Don’t worry. We’re alone,” Seth drawled, leaning back. “I don’t want any ears—demonic or otherwise—hearing what I’m going to tell you.”

“And what do you wish to tell me?” Raphael asked, clasping his fingers on the table, avoiding Samuel’s piercing gaze—he was no longer smiling.

“Cut the shit, Raph. I know there’s a green Nephilim around here. I bet you’re even trying to convince her to come with you to train.” Raphael’s head snapped back to Samael’s, unsure of what to say. How much to say. But Samael just glowered at him. “I’m not here to stop you. But you should know Lucifer knows about her as well.”

Raphael sighed—the news was unsurprising, but unwelcome all the same. “The lesser demon. The one she encountered at the hospital.”

“Yes. You’re too predictable. Lucifer sent the demon after you, knowing you would lead it right to her. It knew the girl was Nephilim when she could see it in its non-corporeal form. And then it saw you speaking with her and getting into her car.”

“Did it follow us? Does Lucifer know where she _lives_?” Raphael was not certain he wished to know the answer.

“Not yet.” Samael’s expression became more guarded.

“But _you_ do,” Raphael confirmed. Samael nodded.

“I haven’t told him. Yet.” He angled his head again. “Hey, why didn’t _you_ know about her sooner? Don’t you usually take them for training when they’re much younger?”

“I—” Raphael hesitated. He could not tell Samael he was unable to sense Hope. If Lucifer found out he could reach her without Raphael’s knowledge—he had already endangered her enough.

Raphael rose, fighting the urge to flee. “I must leave. She is calling for me.” It was a lie, but he did not wish to stay any longer, did not want to risk saying anything more.

Samael stood as well, pulling his leather jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on. “I’ve only been asked to watch her. For now. I don’t have to tell you things will become…complicated if I’m asked to take her out.”

Raphael froze. “He asked _you_ to watch her? Not one of his lesser demons?” Bad enough Lucifer knew, worse still if he felt she was important enough to warrant surveillance from his second.

Samael followed Raphael out of the coffee shop. “Not exactly my idea of fun either, tailing some Nephilim brat. Especially if I were to _lose_ her,” he said, giving Raphael a careful look. “But I go where I’m told.” He smirked, his dark hair falling in his face. “I’ll let you know if there’s any news. Don’t want to be accused of reneging on our deal.” He lifted his hand in a wave, then vanished. Raphael looked around, startled, but there was no one around to have seen.

Yet.

He rolled his eyes, then left as well, by more conventional means. At least until he rounded the corner of the shop where it would be more difficult to be spotted.

#

“Wow, this place is busy.” Hope glanced up at Colleen’s voice as she and Lauren set down drinks, climbing onto stools at the small round table they’d managed to snag in the far corner of the club. Colleen wore a knee-length denim skirt and black knee-high boots, a huge difference over the scrubs and jeans she normally wore. Her sour expression was the same as ever, though.

“And it’s only eight. Imagine if we had come later.” Lauren had to shout to make herself heard above the din. The little black dress she wore was _short_ ; it slid far up her legs as she perched on the barstool, tossing her long, black hair back as she sipped her drink.

Her ex must be an idiot. Or blind.

The dance floor in the middle of the bar was packed, especially for a weekday, with small groups of people everywhere, chatting loudly above the music. Hope took a sip of her drink and winced. Too sweet. She should have asked for something besides whatever Colleen and Lauren were having, which was some sort of fruit-ini.

“Here.” Chris took Hope’s drink and replaced it with her own. She was as dressed up as she got, wearing black jeans and a black tank top. But she wore her auburn hair down instead of its usual ponytail, and she had mascara and lipstick on.

“What is it?”

“A whisky sour. More your style, I think.” She winked. Hope brought the glass to her nose and inhaled; it was made with bourbon—good bourbon, too. She took a sip, with a sigh of satisfaction. Much better.

 _Thank you_ , she mouthed. Chris winked again, bringing the martini glass to her lips. Hope started to smile, but it froze on her face as she noticed a man staring at her from across the bar. Dark hair, almost too long, falling into one eye, just brushing his collar. A smirk that dared her to approach him. And cheekbones that could cut glass. As she met his stare, she could feel her heart start to race. She was _sure_ she’d never seen him before, but she felt drawn to him, like they were connected by some invisible tether. A tether currently stretched far too tight.

Without a word, Hope set down her drink and slid off the barstool. She nervously pulled down the hem of her own little black dress as she picked her way across the crowd toward him, feeling the invisible tether shorten and strengthen. Her pulse thundered in her ears, even over the loud music, making her edgy. She wove around one last couple and then—

He was gone. Just like that. The connection snapped like a rubber band, stinging her like a physical snap across her skin.

Hope stood in the spot the man had occupied just moments before, feeling like an idiot. She whipped her head from left to right, scanning the crowd for any sign of him, but he just…vanished. Her stomach clenched. So silly to be disappointed at being ghosted by a complete stranger. If she could even call it that. She rolled her eyes, willing her heart to slow as made her way back to the table.

“What the hell? You took off like you saw a ghost!” Chris frowned at Hope as she clambered back onto the stool.

“I thought I saw someone I knew.” Hope lied, draining the rest of her drink in one shot, raising her hand to a passing waitress for another. “I was wrong.”

The rest of the evening was a huge disappointment. Lauren spent most of the time on the dance floor with an assortment of men. Hope and Chris tried to make small talk, but it was too loud to be heard. Colleen just stared at Lauren and looked bored. Or maybe she was still pissed about earlier. After about an hour, Hope decided she’d had enough.

“I’m not feeling great. I’m going to head home.” She slid off the seat, reaching for her coat and purse.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Colleen, but Hope thought she looked relieved.

“I can leave with you, if you like.” Chris began to slide off her seat, but Hope held out her hand.

“It’s okay. It’s not too late, and I want you to enjoy your night,” she said, pulling her arms through the coat and shouldering her purse.

“Are you sure? Stacey’s waiting for me at home, anyway.” Her soft brown eyes lit up like they always did when she talked about her fiancée. Hope felt a small pang of jealousy; she didn’t know if she _ever_ felt that way about Jake.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll text you when I get home.” Hope tapped Lauren as she passed the dance floor, waving goodbye. Lauren flashed her a smile and gave her a quick wave, and then turned back to the guy she was dancing with.

It was misting when Hope stepped out onto the crowded downtown street. She considered getting a cab, but decided she would rather walk, even though her jacket was not meant for rain and her hair, which she spent 45 minutes straightening, would be ruined.

Just like this evening.

She couldn’t get the image of that man out of her head. Why would he stare at her so intently, just to vanish as soon as she got near? She had even more questions, but no answers as she continued home, lost in thought. She barely even paid attention to where she was going, nearly stepping into several puddles and almost crossing a street on a red light.

When she finally reached her door, damp and dishevelled, she turned the key, but didn’t hear the deadbolt move. Her door was already unlocked.

Someone was in her apartment.

Fresh adrenaline coursed through her body as she turned the handle slowly, carefully. Silently. She crept across the threshold, pushing the door closed without a sound, removing her wet shoes so they wouldn’t click across the tile floor. She kept her jacket on, even though it was dripping wet; taking it off would make too much noise. She tip-toed down the hallway, her damp pantyhose-clad feet leaving footprints on the tile. Then halted. Was that the television she heard from the living room? She was pretty sure murderers and thieves didn’t watch TV at their victims’ houses.

Then she remembered.

“Jake! What the hell are you doing?” She stomped into the living room, hands on her hips, to see Jake stretched out on the couch, feet up on the antique coffee table, a glass of her good bourbon in his hand. He’d let his honey-blond hair grow out in the time they’d been apart; it was just starting to curl around his ears, joining the beard he’d also let grow. He made no effort to sit up at her voice, but raised his eyes up at her, barely managing to look guilty.

“You texted that you would be out.” He sounded sullen.

“I came home early. You texted you were only coming to get your things.”

“I was. But you always have the best booze.” He raised his glass to her in a mock salute, taking a large gulp. He slid his feet off the table, stood, and sauntered over to the liquor cabinet to refill his glass, Hope glaring at him the whole time. “Want some?” He shrugged at her stony silence, then strolled back to the couch and dropped back down, picking up the remote and flicking through Hope’s list on Netflix like she wasn’t there.

Hope wanted nothing more in that moment than to snatch the remote out of Jake’s hand and smack his smug face with it. Instead, she strode over to the cabinet, poured herself a generous shot, and took a large swig. Then went through the kitchen to the hallway, peeling her wet jacket off, tossing it to the floor. She turned and headed to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Her hands shook so much it took a long time to wrestle the zipper down from her dress, but she finally managed to free herself from it, leaving it in a pool on the floor as she yanked off her sodden pantyhose. Then she pulled open a drawer, throwing on an old blue V-neck t-shirt and the pair of jeans she’d left at the foot of her bed. She grabbed a hair tie off her dresser, pulling back her once-again frizzy and damp hair into a messy knot. She took another drink, willing herself to calm down. She knew Jake would like nothing more than to rile her up, and she would get nowhere with him if he succeeded. She took another few slow, deep breaths, then, feeling like she could at least appear calmer, she opened the door to return to the living room.

“Jesus Christ!” Jake was standing right on the other side of the door; she damn near walked right into him. She hadn’t been this physically close to him in months, but the scent of him was as familiar to her as her own. He was still using the same aftershave he used when they were together, so he smelled like a mix of sandalwood and, well, him. She was instantly aroused, but that wouldn’t lead anywhere good. She stepped back.

“What do you want?” She meant to sound exasperated, but it came out softer, huskier than she intended.

“I was coming to tell you I was leaving. But maybe I should stay?” He closed the gap between them, wrapping his fingers around the belt loops of her jeans, drawing her even closer.

“Jake.” The protest sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. Her arms were against his chest; she could push him away. Should push him away.

She didn’t.

His hands moved up to her hair, pulling the elastic free and running his fingers through it.

“Damn it, Hope. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Jake’s face was barely inches from hers, his eyes like liquid gold. It was a face she had seen every day for years, looking at her with a tenderness she hadn’t seen in months. Or longer. In that moment, she could almost forget everything that happened since.

Almost.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”

“Let’s not talk about it now.” Jake moved even closer if possible, pressing his hips against hers. He closed his eyes, leaning down to kiss her, and Hope could feel the warmth of his bourbon-laced breath on her face, could almost feel his mouth on hers. Six months ago, she would have wanted nothing but this, but now it wasn’t enough.

“That means you haven’t.” Hope pushed her arms against him, gaining a few inches of space. His eyes flew open in surprise. “And if you haven’t forgiven me, you won’t be able to trust me. And if you can’t trust me, why should we even start?”

“Goddamn it. I said I needed more time.” Jake dropped his hands, stepping back from her, his eyes darkening.

“So, you need more time to decide if you still want to be with me, but you’re just fine with fucking me?” Tears blurred Hope’s vision, and she blinked a few times. Jake looked like he’d been slapped in the face.

“That’s not it, and you know it. I still love you. I want to get past this. But every time I look at you, I think about what you did. I imagine you with him, kissing him like you kissed me, touching him like you touched me…”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t know how much I wish I could go back in time and change what I did. But I can’t. You have to forgive me,” Hope heard her voice break, her throat tightening. It was hard to breathe. “You have to forgive me. Or let me go.”

“I—Hope…I can’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He turned and walked into the dining room. Hope stood, frozen in place, hearing the shuffle of cardboard, the clatter of keys, then saw him push the boxes toward the front door, not looking in her direction. She waited until she heard the click of the door closing before she let herself crumple to the floor, let her frustration and grief take over.

#

By all that was unholy, he hated these places.

Samael wrinkled his nose as he sauntered into the packed bar, the reek of human sweat and stale beer assaulting his senses. He couldn’t for the immortal life of him understand the appeal of congregating in such hot, close quarters. From old musty taverns to night clubs, humans sure liked to be in noisy crowds. At least, they bathed more often and smelled better now. For the most part.

He sidled up to the bar, getting the attention of the barkeep with an effortless wave. He also got the attention of more than a few ladies, and a couple of guys, but this was no night for dalliance. Ordering a straight scotch, he tossed some cash on the bar, carefully making his way around the room, looking for a vantage point, a place to scope out as much of the place as possible.

He barely had a description of the Nephilim to go by; the lesser demon he’d sent to find her, the one who’d spotted her with Raphael, had no eye for detail. All Samael knew was she was petite with blond hair. And she was supposed to be here. He noted several women with blonde hair, but it was difficult to determine their height while they were sitting. And he couldn’t even see the dance floor due to the mass of humanity which packed the small space. He took a sip of his drink as he scanned the bar—the one thing humans actually got right was good scotch.

There.

Even if he’d known nothing about how she looked, he knew it was her. Objectively, she wasn’t the prettiest woman here, or even the most striking. Hell, that pretty thing beside her was more to his usual taste. But it was undeniably, unmistakably her. The feeling of familiarity, like he already knew her, had always known her, told him so.

He should move to a more unobtrusive spot, watch her where she would not be able to see him. But he could do nothing but stare across the bar at her, willing her to look up at him, even though he was ordered not to engage with her.

He watched her take a sip of some lurid purple concoction, nearly bursting out laughing at her expression. With her wrinkled nose and pursed lips, she clearly wasn’t a fan. Her redheaded friend handed her drink over, the Nephilim’s face visibly relaxing as she put it to her lips. An unexpected thought of what he might like to do to those lips slipped into his head just as she met his eyes.

Those eyes. Even in this dim light, even from so far away he shouldn’t be able to see them, they glittered a brilliant, sparkling green. Clear, like the light reflecting through an emerald.

He’d seen those eyes before.

The smile she had for her friend froze, then faded from her face as she slid off her chair.

Oh, hell no.

She was headed right for him.

He didn’t turn, didn’t walk away. Just vanished, not caring if anyone saw. He couldn’t let her reach him. He hadn’t felt this drawn to anyone in decades. Centuries. Maybe ever.

He didn’t like it.

Samael didn’t think about a particular destination; he was in too much of a hurry to get out of that nightclub. So he wasn’t _that_ surprised to find himself on the roof of some sort of building. Looking through the misty haze of rain, all he could see was the dim reflection of city lights in the overcast, darkened sky.

He walked forward until he hit the ledge. Looked down. Then laughed without humor, shaking his head.

He was on the roof of the goddamned hospital where the Nephilim worked.


	4. Bullseye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope stifled a yawn as she got off the hospital elevator the next morning, cursing herself for taking an extra shift two days after coming off nights. If Chris hadn’t begged her to—  
> She peered down the corridor, confused.  
> The floor was quiet. Too quiet. The lights were still dim, set for nighttime, the hallway deserted—she didn’t see a single person from the time she got off the elevator until she reached the main desk.  
> “Morning, Gretchen,” she said to the unit clerk, while digging in her bag for her ID. When Gretchen didn’t answer, Hope looked up to see her speaking quickly into the phone, looking terrified. What’s wrong? she mouthed, after getting Gretchen’s attention by waving her hand in her face.  
> “Code blue. Room three-fourteen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope does some rage cleaning and gains new perspective. Then has an incident at work. There may or may not be inappropriate use of needles.

Hope woke in the middle of the night, cold and sore from sleeping on the floor. Without changing into pajamas, she crawled into bed. And slept late—it was early afternoon when she got out of bed, her eyes still puffy and sore.

But strangely, she felt more energetic than she had in weeks. She went for a run, showered, and tackled the apartment, attacking it like a Merry Maid on meth, loading the dishwasher, then cleaning out the refrigerator and stove, even scrubbing the backsplash. When she was done in the kitchen, she gathered all the magazines in the living room, recycling the ones she had read, placing the others in a neat pile on the coffee table. She tossed all her video games and accessories in a box—she was probably getting too old for that stuff, anyway. She wiped every surface, vacuumed and scrubbed all the floors, and washed all her laundry, even folding and putting it away right away, instead of letting it sit in the basket and wrinkle for days.

Once she was done, she sank onto the couch with a cup of coffee, tired but in much better spirits. The house hadn’t been this tidy in ages. In fact, the last time it even resembled this level of clean was when—

“When Jake moved out.” It took her a moment to realize she said the words out loud. She remembered when he’d packed up a suitcase and duffle bag of his stuff, leaving her to wander the apartment, which felt so much bigger and emptier without him. That time, she spent four full days in bed and on the couch, unable to do anything but sob, watch TV and eat junk food. She couldn’t muster the energy to shower or change her pajamas. She’d even called in sick for work.

Then, just like today, she’d awoken with an overabundance of energy and had cleaned the apartment from one end to the other. Packed up the rest of his stuff: the kitchenware and appliances only he used, his spice rack, his spare computer and his electronics. She’d boxed it, hoping maybe if he saw it, he would have a change of heart. Those boxes had stood at the far corner of her dining room for months.

Until last night.

Now the apartment was hers and hers alone. It was over, really over this time. Before, she would have done anything for him to come back, would have waited forever for him to forgive her. But he didn’t. Maybe couldn’t.

And she was done waiting.

#

Hope stifled a yawn as she got off the hospital elevator the next morning, cursing herself for taking an extra shift two days after coming off nights. If Chris hadn’t begged her to—

She peered down the corridor, confused.

The floor was quiet. Too quiet. The lights were still dim, set for nighttime, the hallway deserted—she didn’t see a single person from the time she got off the elevator until she reached the main desk.

“Morning, Gretchen,” she said to the unit clerk, while digging in her bag for her ID. When Gretchen didn’t answer, Hope looked up to see her speaking quickly into the phone, looking terrified. _What’s wrong?_ she mouthed, after getting Gretchen’s attention by waving her hand in her face.

“Code blue. Room three-fourteen,” Gretchen replied, turning her attention back to the phone. Hope dropped her purse and bag, racing down the hall, flying through the door just in time to see the obstetrician place a sheet over a still figure on the bed.

“Time of death: oh-seven-fifteen.”

“Nonono.” Hope dashed over, pushing the other nurses out of the way, throwing the sheet off. The woman was still, her face yellowish-white and waxy, hands already beginning to mottle. An enormous pool of blood had already started to thicken between the woman’s legs.

“We tried for over an hour, Hope. There was nothing more we could do.” Lauren placed her hand on Hope’s shoulder.

“You just finished CPR. Then there’s still a chance.” Hope put her hands on the still form, heedless of the others standing there, watching her. She closed her eyes, blocking everything out, taking a deep breath, feeling her pulse slow, a steady metronome in her ears as she waited for the familiar heat to come from her hands. She felt a tiny spark of warmth, saw a flicker of light behind her eyelids.

And then it died.

Her eyes flew open in alarm. No warmth. No light.

“No damn it! Not this time!” Hope shook her hands a couple of times, then tried again. Nothing. Tears of frustration burned her eyes; she blinked them back furiously as she kept her hands on the dead woman, futilely willing them to do their job.

“Hope.” Lauren gently pulled Hope away. “You can’t do anything. It’s too late.”

“No! You don’t understand! I could have saved her! If only I’d been here sooner!” Hope was sobbing now, Lauren half-leading, half-dragging her from the room. She pulled her back to the main desk, shaking her head at Gretchen as she led Hope to the small report room in the back. Once Lauren closed the door, she pushed Hope into a nearby chair before bringing another around to sit across from her.

“There was nothing you could do.” She took Hope’s icy hands in her own warm ones. “She was already gone. We tried everything, but she wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Hope stopped crying, her sobs subsiding into shaky, hiccupping breaths. She felt drained and hollow—partly from her attempt to save the woman. Mostly because she had failed.

She remembered this feeling from the last time she’d tried to heal the dead. It had taken her a whole day to recover that time.

“B-but I c-could have…” Hope stumbled to get the words out as she pulled her hands from Lauren’s to swipe at her cheeks. Then they both raised their heads at the sound of the door opening,

“Hope! What’ve you done?” Chris burst into the room, closing the door behind her. Hope dropped her head, staring down at her hands.

“I tried to…but I couldn’t—I was too late,” she whispered, feeling fresh tears burn her already stinging eyes. She blinked a couple of times, then glanced up at Chris—she looked terrified.

“I know. But you let everyone see you.” She held Hope’s eyes as she kneeled beside Lauren’s chair. Hope looked from Chris to Lauren, frowning in confusion.

“What do you mean? It didn’t work. Nothing happened.” Hope wiped her eyes with the back of her hand again, certain she was smearing mascara everywhere. When she glanced back at Chris, she felt a prickle of alarm in her spine, shooting up to her neck. It made her shiver.

“They saw _something_ ,” Chris said, her voice flat. “They’re all talking about it.” But it didn’t work; Hope was certain. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lauren cut her off.

“You mean that glow coming from your hands? We all saw that.” Oh no. Hope closed her eyes, throwing her head back. How the hell was she going to explain this to Lauren? To everyone? They would all think she was a freak.

And they’d be right.

“Oh my god.” Hope stood, covering her eyes with her palms, her head starting to pound. “Oh my _god_. This is bad. This is really bad.” She crossed over to the door, pushing her hands against it, leaning into it as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _breathe_ through the vise closing around her chest.

“It’ll be okay.” Lauren said, her voice soothing, reassuring. “We all knew you were a bit…different.”

“I’m more than a bit different. I’m half goddamn angel,” Hope muttered, not thinking. Then realized what she’d just said. She whirled to face them, hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. Lauren’s dark brown eyes met hers, equally shocked; Hope looked down to see Chris’s matching expression.

“Half angel!” Chris bolted up, her expression shifting from surprise to disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just found out a couple of days ago. There hasn’t really been a good time.” She gave Chris a humorless half-smile. “I don’t even know if I believe it myself.”

“What does that even mean, half-angel?” Chris crossed her arms, still looking incredulous.

“It means my mom supposedly got it on with some angel, never told me, and now I have a fucking archangel warning me the literal _devil_ is after me,” she said, the words falling out of her mouth in a rapid burst. “He says I need to leave with him, to learn how to become some sort of Nephilim _warrior_ because apparently the goddamn apocalypse is coming.” Chris stared at her for a moment, their eyes locked. Hope saw her face go from skeptical to amused, her lips twitching, trying to hide the smile fighting to emerge.

“It’s fine. You can laugh. I wouldn’t believe me, either. It’s fucking crazy.” Hope sighed, her shoulders slumping. She yanked her hands through her hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles. Absently, she reached in her pocket for a hair tie, pulling the mass into a lopsided ponytail.

“I know _you’re_ crazy.” The smile won out. “But I believe you.” Hope turned to look over at Lauren, who still appeared thunderstruck. Hope opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a knock at the door. All three froze, the smile dropping from Chris’s lips.

“It’s Doctor Delaney.” He was probably here to ask about what happened in the room. But Hope had no clue what to say. How to explain. As quietly as she could, she backed away from the door to press herself against the wall so she wouldn’t be seen, Chris joining her. Lauren gave them a look as she slowly opened the door, just enough to peek her head through.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Is the other nurse in there? She seemed so upset. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s—” The doctor pushed open the door before Lauren could finish speaking, dragging her outside as he stepped into the little room.

“I do _hope_ you weren’t too upset by that woman’s death.” There was a strange edge to his voice. And as Hope met his eyes, she noticed they gleamed with an odd light; it was—inhuman. Hope grabbed Chris’s wrist, pulling them both away from the wall, backing away from him.

“Demon,” Hope breathed. She could sense it now, the unnaturalness—there was no trace of anything human in that body. Maybe if she hadn’t been so distracted before, she would have noticed in the room.

“What did you say?” asked Chris.

“Demon!” Hope shouted this time. “Run!” She and Chris both launched themselves at him, surprising him as they knocked him to the ground, landing on his chest. Faster than she’d ever moved in her life, Hope sprang back up, grabbing Chris’s arm, yarding her up, racing past the desk, down the hall. The demon was fast; Hope could hear his shoes hit the linoleum right behind them. She let go of Chris’s hand to make it easier for them to run, hoping wherever Lauren was, she’d managed to get away.

Hope needed to get the demon away from Chris, out of the hospital. “Head to labour and delivery,” she ordered as they reached the end of the corridor. “I’ll lead him out of the building.”

“What? Hope, no!” Chris protested, but Hope pushed her to the right as she spun on her toes to go left.

“Just do it!” Chris turned and sprinted away, Hope casting a quick glance at her while she dashed down the other hallway, chancing a glance behind, to make sure the demon was following her. She ducked into the first room she could find, slamming the door shut. Oh, good. A supply closet. She frantically pulled open drawer after drawer, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

She was still searching when the door burst open. She gasped, wrapping her fingers around the nearest object, a box of latex gloves, hurling it at the demon’s head.

He ducked.

She brought her foot up to kick him, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled. Would have knocked her to the floor, but she flung her arms out, taking hold of the metal shelves. Bringing her other leg up, she just managed to strike him in the crotch with her toes. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough. He dropped her leg with a grunt, taking a couple of steps back.

Not far back enough for her to escape.

Desperate, she pulled open one more drawer. Jackpot.

She grabbed a handful of the biggest needles she could find. One by one, she ripped away the packaging, tore off the plastic cover, threw them like darts.

Forehead. Chest. Neck. Neck.

The demon howled in pain, hands flailing, trying to block the incoming needles, to remove the others stuck into him.

Leg. Leg.

Bullseye.

He dropped to the floor, hands frantically grabbing at his groin. Hope jumped, using his bent head to launch herself over him and out the door. All thought of leading him away was gone, replaced with the need to escape, to survive. She bolted back down the hall, through the fire doors to the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the ground floor. Didn’t stop running until she got to her car.

Then stopped dead. Her keys were in her purse, which was still on the floor, beside the desk. Inside the hospital.

“Motherfucker!” she swore. She was going to have to go back.


	5. Appear Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Teleport?” asked Hope. “You mean that thing where you just vanish? Why can’t we just fly there or something if we can’t get there by car? Where the hell did you plan on taking me?” Hope crossed the room and plunked herself down on the couch. She wasn’t going anywhere. For now.  
> Thank God.  
> “Not Hell. Heaven.”  
> “Wait, what?” That got her attention. She shot forward, staring at Raphael, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “You were going to take me to Heaven? Don’t I need to be dead first?”  
> “No,” he replied. “Human souls can only enter Heaven after they have died, but you are Nephilim, which protects you and allows entry.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. It made him look more vulnerable, more…human. “I will need to find a portal.”  
> “There are portals?” She felt her lips twitch. “Like…a stairway? To Heaven?” Hope snickered, unable to help herself.  
> “No, not a stairway. More like a…gateway. A door.” Jesus. Raphael had no sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope tells Raphael what happened, and agrees to go with him for training. Then they both learn why he isn't able to detect her.

Hope’s hands shook the entire drive home.  
She’d gone back inside the hospital, taking the stairwell furthest away from her floor, peeking through every window, around every corner, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she wondered if she’d even hear anyone approach.   
But the demon must have assumed she wouldn’t return because he was gone. That, or he was still in the supply closet. Once she’d reached her floor, she grabbed her bag and her purse, telling Gretchen to replace her for the rest of today and her next set. She didn’t give a reason.  
She should tell Raphael what happened, but she really, really, really didn’t want to. Wasn’t sure what would make him freak out more: that she used her powers in front of everyone, or that she had to fight her first demon because she used her powers in front of everyone.  
“What the—Raphael?” Hope nearly tripped over him as she reached the stairs in front of her building. He was sitting on them, oblivious to the pouring rain, clearly waiting for her. His normally curly hair was plastered to his head in dark strings, dripping water down his face like tears. He didn’t seem to care that his clothing was completely drenched, his long-sleeved shirt clinging to his upper body, his jeans sodden and dripping onto his boots. “How long have you been here? You look like you’ve been waiting all morning.”  
“I have.” Raphael raised his head, water streaming into his eyes, down his cheeks. He blinked, twice. “You are not safe here. You must gather some things and leave immediately.” Hope walked around him toward the front door; he jumped to follow her, drying his face unsuccessfully with his shirtsleeve. She dug in her purse for her keys, then unlocked the door, turning to hold it open for him.  
“I know,” she said as he walked past. She followed him inside, then dodged around him to reach the bank of mailboxes along the back wall. No mail. She turned back to him when he didn’t reply, sighing as she pressed the elevator button. “Now that you’re here, I have to tell you something.” She took a shaky breath. “Something happened at work.”  
“You tried to heal a dead woman and showed everyone your power.” Raphael’s voice was flat and emotionless instead of chastising which made Hope feel even worse. Her breath caught in her throat.  
“That was a bit blunt, but yes. I didn’t mean to; I just wanted to save her.” Raphael frowned at her as he got in the elevator, Hope reaching around him to push the button for her floor. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.  
“I cannot believe you were so foolish!”   
“I know! I didn’t mean to!” Hope threw her hands up. Then frowned. “Wait. How do you know?”  
“Because it was a trap,” Raphael said, impatient. “I received information that Lucifer was planning to send a demon to the hospital to retrieve you. It must have killed that human, counting on you to attempt to save her, and you played right into its hands. By the time I arrived to warn you, it was done. You had already left.”  
“That’s awesome. Just…great.” They reached her floor. Hope groped around in her purse for her keys again, glad for the excuse to drop Raphael’s gaze.  
“By the heavens,” Raphael swore. “There is more.” Hope nodded. Then, still avoiding his eyes, she told him what happened. “Do you even realize the danger in which you placed yourself? And your friends? You are all fortunate to be alive.” Raphael paced the short distance to the stairwell and back, his clothes dripping onto the carpet.  
“I know. I’m so sorry, Raphael.” She sighed. “The good news is, I’m now free for training. I took special leave for my next set. And, if anyone finds that demon, I’ll be fired, making me free indefinitely.”  
“We should leave at once,” he said, not following her inside. “I will wait here while you pack.” He gave her a brief onceover. “And change.” Then, not waiting for her reply, he turned and stood just outside her door, feet spread and arms crossed, looking like a soggy bouncer at a nightclub. Hope ducked into her apartment, closing the door, praying he didn’t frighten anyone into calling the cops.  
Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and headed for her bedroom, kneeling beside her bed to yank out the duffle bag from underneath, tossing it on the duvet. She had no idea where she was going or what she would need so she packed a bit of everything: jeans, t-shirts, tanks, a pile of socks and underwear, a couple of extra bras, some sweaters, pajamas, even her swimsuit. She then headed into the bathroom and grabbed all the toiletries she used every day off the counter, stuffing them into a rapidly overflowing pouch. As an afterthought, she bent, grabbing a box of tampons from the cupboard. Then she straightened, glancing in the mirror just as she was turning off the lights.  
“Crap!” She was still wearing her scrubs. Dashing back into the bedroom, she dumped her armload of stuff into the bag, then opened the closet, rummaging through the rack, looking for a pair of jeans that still fit and weren’t already packed. She found a pair of yoga pants instead, glancing behind her to see a clean—she hoped—tank top on the floor by her bed. She slid the closet door closed and had her hand at the waistband of her scrub pants when she jumped, gasping in surprise.  
“Jesus! Don’t you ever knock?” Raphael stood at the doorway, lips pursed, brow furrowed. But at least his clothes were dry.  
How’d he do that?  
“You are not ready yet.”  
“God, impatient much? I just have to get changed.”  
“Very well.” He turned and strode into the living room. Hope closed the bedroom door, changed as quickly as she could and forced the zipper of her duffel closed. Then hoisted it over her shoulder, staggering at the weight of it, wondering if she should remove some stuff. But Raphael seemed to be in a hurry, so she took the bag down and half-carried, half-dragged it into the living room.  
“Can’t you even tell me where we’re going?” she whined. “I packed half my damn closet.” Raphael glanced at the overstuffed bag, then at her, his mouth quirking.  
“What you are wearing will suffice,” was all he said. “Although I trust you are bringing a sweater or jacket.”  
“Yeah, about five of them. I can take some stuff out—” She began to reach for the bag.  
“We must leave as soon as possible.” Raphael reached over to grasp Hope’s upper arm, bending down to take her bag. But he jumped back with a cry of surprise, his hand flying from her arm as if he’d been electrocuted. Hope felt the jolt too, a brief, jarring lance of pain that made her arm sting.  
“Oh my God! Raphael, are you okay?” Hope straightened, stepping toward him, but he retreated, shaking his hand, his blue eyes wide with…fear?  
“What did you do?” he breathed, taking another step back, narrowly missing the coffee table with the back of his knees.  
“What do you mean?” Hope heard her voice rise as she threw her hands up. “I didn’t do anything!”  
“I cannot touch you.” He angled his head as he stared at her, thinking. Then he took a tiny step forward, his face calmer. “You must have a warding sigil on your body somewhere.” His eyes roamed over her body as if looking for the sigil through her clothing.  
“Well, I didn’t put it there!” Hope resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands. “I don’t even know what a warding sigil would look like.”  
“It would likely be Enochian.” He took another step forward. “To you, it would look like handwriting—or calligraphy. Perhaps you are wearing a piece of jewelry with something of that sort.”  
“I’m not wearing any—oh wait! I have this weird birthmark on my left hip.” Hope lifted the hem of her tank, pulling down the waistband of her pants as she turned away from Raphael to show him. At least, she’d always assumed it had been a birthmark; she’d had it for as long as she could remember. He bent forward, examining the mark.  
“That is no birthmark. It is as I suspected.” He peered more closely, his fingers reaching. But not touching. “It is Enochian, the language of the angels. The letters Orth and Val. Roughly translated, it means ‘appear dark’. Those two letters, that sigil, would make you undetectable and untouchable to angels.”  
“But how would it get there if it isn’t a birthmark? I didn’t put it there.” Hope pulled her shirt back down, frowning in confusion. Raphael straightened, his finger now tapping on his upper lip.  
“I cannot say. But it explains why I cannot sense you or touch you.” His eyes bored into hers. “And it might be the only thing keeping you safe from Lucifer right now.”  
“So, I don’t have to run away?” Hope asked, trying not to sound too happy about it. Raphael shook his head, not appearing to hear her.  
“It does…complicate things somewhat. The place I had in mind is not accessible by car. I had intended to teleport with you, but clearly that will not be possible.” His eyes met hers again. He didn’t look happy. “I will need to find another way there.”  
“Teleport?” asked Hope. “You mean that thing where you just vanish? Why can’t we just fly there or something if we can’t get there by car? Where the hell did you plan on taking me?” Hope crossed the room and plunked herself down on the couch. She wasn’t going anywhere. For now.  
Thank God.  
“Not Hell. Heaven.”  
“Wait, what?” That got her attention. She shot forward, staring at Raphael, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “You were going to take me to Heaven? Don’t I need to be dead first?”  
“No,” he replied. “Human souls can only enter Heaven after they have died, but you are Nephilim, which protects you and allows entry.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. It made him look more vulnerable, more…human. “I will need to find a portal.”  
“There are portals?” She felt her lips twitch. “Like…a stairway? To Heaven?” Hope snickered, unable to help herself.  
“No, not a stairway. More like a…gateway. A door.” Jesus. Raphael had no sense of humor.  
“Never mind.” She rolled her eyes, standing up to get herself a drink, morning be damned. “How long will it take you to find one?” she asked as she poured a good-sized dram of bourbon into a glass. When he didn’t reply, she turned around.  
Raphael was gone.  
Hope sank back onto the couch. She had no idea where Raphael had gone, or when he was coming back. Not sure what else to do, she sent a text to Chris, telling her she was okay, and she was leaving for a few days. She did not say where.  
The moment she pressed send, Raphael reappeared. She placed her untouched drink on the coffee table.  
“That was fast,” she said. He didn’t answer. “You found a portal then.” Her heart sank.  
“Yes. But it is old and has not been used in some time. I am not certain it still functions. We will have to take the chance and go there.”  
“Well, it’s a good thing my bag’s still packed.” Hope joked, pointing to the floor where her duffel bag lay, still nearly bursting.   
“Very well. We shall leave at once.” Raphael nodded, then gave Hope a strange look. “You actually defeated a corporeal demon by throwing…needles at it?” The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Hope nodded, a grin stealing across her own face. Raphael surprised her by bursting out laughing, a deep, booming laugh which rattled the bottles on her liquor cabinet. She joined him, then ducked into the entryway, stuffing her essentials into her jacket pockets: keys, wallet, phone, lip balm.  
When she returned to the living room, she pointed at her bag, raising her brows at Raphael, who looked impatient to leave. “You can carry that?” she asked. “I’ll drive.”  
#  
“Turn left at the next road. I think.” Raphael bent his head to look closer at Hope’s phone, his curls falling in his face. He frowned and turned the display 90 degrees. “Or maybe it is to the right.”  
“Wow, navigation is not one of your strong suits.” Hope tried to keep the irritation from her voice. They had been driving for hours, at least a third of the time due to wrong turns. “Do you need me to pull over again?”  
“No.” But he didn’t sound certain. Hope decided not to press it, continuing along the gravel logging road, glancing over to look for any sign of somewhere she could turn left. She slowed, then stopped as they reached what could better be described as a trail. It was barely wide enough to accommodate a car, with trees lining both sides. She couldn’t see far down it either, due to the dark rainclouds in the sky.  
“Is this it? Do I turn down here?” Hope snatched the phone out of Raphael’s hands before he could reply. “It looks like the right way. Do you recognize the road?”  
“I have never been here before.”  
“Then how the hell do you know there’s a portal?” Hope’s voice rose, her patience evaporating.  
“I looked up the coordinates.” Hope blew out a breath, playing around with settings until she was able to get the coordinates to display on the map. Then she handed the phone back to Raphael.  
“Is this better? Do you know where we are now?”  
“Ah, yes.” His face relaxed in relief. “Yes, turn here. It is…five hundred meters to the end of the road.”  
“Thank God.” She turned the car onto the narrow trail, inching her way along it. “So, what is at the end anyway?”  
“I cannot say.” He squinted at the rain-spotted windshield, upper body straining against the seat belt.  
“Awesome.” Hope turned on her high beams, the trees blocking out any light to be had from above. Her small car wasn’t suited to such a rough road; more than once, Hope could hear the scrape of a rock against the undercarriage. She clutched the steering wheel tighter, willing her little car to make it to the end without dying. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the road abruptly ended in front of a grassy clearing, no building or landmark of any kind. Hope cut the engine.  
“Are you sure this is it?” she asked, trying to keep the creep of doubt from her voice. “I can’t see anything out there.”  
“Positive. I can feel the energy of the portal now.” Raphael had already removed his seat belt and jumped out the second the car stopped moving, leaving her phone on the seat. She snatched it up, stepping out of the car, circling to the back to retrieve her duffle.  
“This way.” He began walking to the center of the clearing, Hope staggering to catch up with him, bag hoisted awkwardly on her shoulder, the lights from the car illuminating their way for only a minute before they died. Hope was still trying to adjust to their darker surroundings when Raphael stopped abruptly ahead of her, barely giving her time to catch herself from launching into his back.  
“You remain here,” he said, pointing to the ground before striding forward. When he reached the right spot, he widened his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground, standing straight and tall, raising his arms until his body resembled the five points of a star. He began chanting in a strange language Hope did not understand, but from the first word, she felt a warm, powerful energy emerge in front of him. The air started to glow and shimmer, growing brighter until it threatened to blind her; Hope shielded her eyes, turning away from it. Then, as if being translated in her head, she could understand what Raphael was saying.  
“…be thou a window of comfort unto me. Move and show yourselves; open the mysteries of your creation; be friendly unto me, for I am the servant of the same your God, the true worshipper of the Highest.”  
The light faded. Hope raised her head, her eyes flaring wide, the heavy duffle sliding off her shoulder to the ground beside her. There, in front of Raphael, was a giant oval of swirling pearlescent silver light. He turned toward Hope, stepping aside and sweeping his hand toward the portal.  
“After you.”


	6. So, This is Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Holy crap,” Hope breathed, then covered her mouth with her hands. Maybe not the best expression in Heaven, but she couldn’t help herself. When she’d heard the words ‘dorm room’ she pictured a small dark space, crowded with furniture, like the one she’d lived in when she went to nursing school.   
> It was nothing like that.  
> The room was enormous, nearly as large as her entire apartment. The walls had the same, from-within type of glow as the ones in the lobby, but these were a warmer golden colour, not nearly as bright. The floor was hardwood, with a lush, cream-coloured rug in the center. A large, curtained-off area took up the entire wall between the twin bed at the far left and the modest-sized oak desk on the far right, another bed and desk against the near wall. And there was enough extra floor space to hold a sizable Pilates class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope settles into her new digs in Heaven, and begins her training.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Hope stepped forward, letting the bright light of the portal envelop her as she passed through. She emerged, Raphael right behind her, into an area of pure golden light. It took a bit for her eyes to adjust and make out any shapes. Then she just stood, gazing around, amazed.

She seemed to be standing in the round atrium of a large building, but everything glowed with that light, from the pale-yellow floor at her feet to the walls which stretched so high above she couldn’t see the ceiling. The bottom two stories were solid wall, each floor above ringed with a railed walkway, the circular wall growing narrower as it rose. What looked like elevator doors were on her right, jutting out from the wall in a half-cylinder. The floor beneath her gleamed, not a single scuff mark on it; it looked like it was made for delicate angel feet, not the gawky, sneaker-clad feet standing on it now. A soft thud behind her shook her from her thoughts. She turned to see Raphael still behind her, her forgotten duffle bag at his boots, which looked even more out of place than her own shoes.

“So, this is Heaven.” Ugh, what a dumb thing to say. Where else would she be?

“Yes. The Hall of Healing to be precise. This is my domain.” Raphael stepped around Hope, waving his hand over his shoulder for her to follow. “This way.” He led her forward until they stood in front some sort of reception desk, made of the same stone as the floor, rising to chest level. Sitting at the desk, speaking into a strange, white glowing crystal, was an angel in a bright yellow robe. They were inhumanly beautiful, with long wavy blond hair, full rosy lips and wide, pale blue eyes over rounded cheeks. As soon as they noticed Hope and Raphael, they put down the crystal.

“Raphael! I am so glad of your return! This must be the Nephilim everyone’s been talking about.” Their voice was melodic, more like singing than speaking. They winked and Hope felt her face grow hot. She had the feeling not everything said about her was flattering.

“Hmm, yes.” Raphael, cleared his throat, looking like he was holding back a smile. “Yes. This is Hope Grayson. Hope, this is my assistant, Alexi.” They winked at Hope again. “Have you any messages for me?”

“Of course.” They handed a stack of small pink sheets to Raphael. Hope stared at them for a moment, not believing her eyes.

“Is that…paper?” She didn’t realize she asked the question out loud. Raphael looked at her like she’d lost her senses.

Alexi raised a long, elegant hand in front of their face, stifling a giggle. “Of course it is. What do you think we write on? Stone tablets?”

“I…don’t know. I never thought about it.” Now her face was on fire. She walked over to the side of the desk while Raphael flipped through the pages. Once she was closer to the walls, she saw they were made of some sort of opaque yellow crystal. A subtle light shone behind them, making them appear to glow. She moved even closer, staring at them so intently she didn’t hear Raphael speak.

“Hope.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Would she _ever_ stop feeling awkward and out-of-place here?

“Alexi will show you to your room. I have a meeting to attend.” Raphael walked to the right of the desk and pressed his hand against the wall. With a small hiss, the wall slid aside, revealing a hidden doorway. Hope couldn’t see what was behind the secret door before Raphael stepped through it and it closed behind him.

“Come with me.” Alexi walked toward the duffle bag, still laying in the middle of the atrium. They slung it over their shoulder—like it was filled with cotton balls instead of half of Hope’s apartment—turning toward the elevators. Hope hurried to catch up, watching as Alexi placed their hand on a small panel beside the doors, causing it to glow brighter than the surrounding walls. A moment later, the elevator opened, revealing a cylindrical car. Alexi and Hope stepped inside, the doors closing behind them.

“Dormitories.” Alexi placed their hand on the inside panel as they spoke, and the elevator silently began its ascent. The entire car was made of thick glass—through the lobby side, she could see the rails across from her as they went from floor to floor. Beyond the rails were unmarked doors, all closed. Behind her, more unmarked, closed doors.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, the doors opening opposite the lobby. Alexi stepped out of the elevator, readjusting the bag slightly on their shoulder, Hope following. They turned left and began walking the narrow, circular hallway.

About a quarter of the way around, Alexi stopped in front of yet another closed, unmarked door. They placed their hand directly on the door this time, the lock clicking open. Then turned the handle, pushing the door open as they stepped into the room, holding it open for Hope to follow.

“Holy crap,” Hope breathed, then covered her mouth with her hands. Maybe not the best expression in Heaven, but she couldn’t help herself. When she’d heard the words ‘dorm room’ she pictured a small dark space, crowded with furniture, like the one she’d lived in when she went to nursing school.

It was nothing like that.

The room was enormous, nearly as large as her entire apartment. The walls had the same, from-within type of glow as the ones in the lobby, but these were a warmer golden colour, not nearly as bright. The floor was hardwood, with a lush, cream-coloured rug in the center. A large, curtained-off area took up the entire wall between the twin bed at the far left and the modest-sized oak desk on the far right, another bed and desk against the near wall. And there was enough extra floor space to hold a sizable Pilates class.

“There’s a closet through there.” Alexi pointed at a door between the beds. “And a bathroom through the door on the other side. There is a kitchen area over there.” They pointed to another door between the desks. “Normally you would share the area with the other Nephilim, but…”

“I’m the only one left.”

“Well…no, but there’s far fewer than there used to be.” Alexi sighed. “If there’s anything you need, just put it on the list on the fridge. Now, if you don’t require anything further—”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just go to sleep.” Hope tried and failed to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t late, only early evening by her guess. But it had been a _day_.

“Very well. Have a good night then.” Alexi shrugged the duffle off in the center of the room, turning back to the door.

“Wait! What happens in the morning?” Hope asked. Alexi paused, then turned their head, their wide blue eyes meeting her own.

“You start your training.” Alexi winked again, then vanished. Hope stood for a moment, deciding what to do. She _was_ tired; part of her just wanted to lie down on one of the beds and sleep. But curiosity won out. Shower, then check out the kitchen. Maybe some food while she was there. She walked over to her duffle bag, grabbed her toiletries, and walked through the door on the left.

The closet had a small row of drawers and hangers on either side, creating a narrow hallway from the bedroom to the bathroom. As she walked along it, she promised herself she would actually unpack, rather than let her clothes wrinkle in her bag. Tomorrow maybe.

Oh!” Hope gasped. At least the bathroom resembled a college dorm’s: a couple of stalls in front of her, a row of sinks on the right-hand wall, and two showers beside her. But the walls of the room—the same strange rock as the other areas—glowed a soft, pale blue, creating the feeling of being underwater.

Hope peeled her clothes off and stepped into the first shower stall, drawing the curtain closed even though there was nobody to walk in on her. Made the water hotter than she usually did, her muscles relaxing, the last bit of tension from the day finally easing. She didn’t get out until her fingers started to wrinkle and the steam made it hard to breathe.

Tucking one fluffy soft towel around her middle and wrapping another around her hair, she padded back to the bedroom, her dirty clothes balled in her fist, her still-damp feet leaving footprints on the floor behind her. She rummaged through her bag for an old t-shirt and flannel pants she wore for pajamas and pulled them on. Combed through her hair, then twisted it into a clip at her neck, heading for the kitchen.

It was more like a common area and it was even larger than the dorm room. The near half was the kitchen proper, with yellow marble counters and stainless-steel appliances, a large, rectangular island in the centre, surrounded by barstools. The far half was more like a living room, with a couple of oversized reclining chairs and giant wall-mounted television set.

“Hmm. That’s weird.” Hope touched the wall beside her as she walked inside. The walls here, unlike everywhere else, didn’t have that from-within glow. They were just plain white plaster. She briefly wondered why these walls were different, then shrugged—she wasn’t going to find out tonight.

She peered through the glass doors of the cupboards for something to eat, but didn’t see anything that interested her; however, she did manage to find a bottle of wine. Grabbing the nearest one, she twisted the cap, pouring a generous amount into a glass. It was French, red, and better than the stuff she usually bought. She took a sip as she opened the fridge. Inside was a plate of cold cuts and cheese, already arranged. She grabbed the plate, kicked the door closed with her foot and sat in one of the oversized chairs.

The room was too quiet; she wanted something, anything, that resembled her normal life at home. Luckily for her, the TV remote was sitting on the arm of the chair she’d picked. She flicked it on, more for the noise than anything else. The TV went directly to Netflix; apparently Heaven was too far away for cable reception. The thought made her laugh, but then she realized Heaven was apparently _not_ too far away for the internet. Weird.

While she ate, Hope scrolled through the list of most recently watched shows, wondering what Nephilim watched on their downtime. According to this, a lot of occult stuff. _Shadowhunters_ , _The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_ , and _Lucifer_ were the top three shows. Figures. She selected _Shadowhunters_ , letting the next episode in the cue play, wondering if they felt the same way watching this as she did with _Grey’s Anatomy_.

But she only got through half the episode before she started to nod off. She shut the TV off, left the half-empty plate and empty glass on the counter, and stumbled back into the dorm. As she climbed between the ridiculously crisp covers—the thread count was probably astronomical—she wondered if the glowing walls would keep her awake. But she barely finished the thought before she was fast asleep.

#

When Hope woke the next morning, she forgot she wasn’t in her bed at home. She had that odd but familiar feeling she often had, when she wasn’t sure if it was morning or afternoon, or even what day it was, born from years of shift work. Something wasn’t right, though. She could detect a brightness behind her closed lids that wasn’t there at home. Prying open her eyes, she spotted the empty bed across from her. Oh, right.

She was in a dorm room.

In Heaven.

“Jesus Christ!” What time was it? She sat up, scanning the walls, but didn’t see a clock. Without thinking, she got out of bed and pulled back the curtain. Brilliant sunlight flooded into the room, making the walls blindingly bright. Her eyes watered as she blinked against the glare. But once they adjusted, she couldn’t _stop_ staring.

It was like looking out the window of an airplane—the clouds below, obscuring the ground and bottom floors of the towers outside. And the towers themselves—they were magnificent, elaborate structures, dazzling in the reflected sunlight, hurting Hope’s eyes.

The one to her left was white, each floor marked with a gold-railed balcony which ran all around, the rail carved into the shapes of wings, roses, and ivy. Hope could just make out the domed roof, surrounded by golden cherubs.

To the right and further away, a light purple structure gleamed; with its dome in the center and two towers on either side, it looked a bit a big bald head with raised arms. The pale pink tower on its right was shorter, more squared-off, but the rounded corners gave it an art deco feel.

Hope could’ve stood and stared at this strange skyline all day, but, with a start, she remembered she had training. She stepped back from the window, dressed quickly in a pair of running leggings and a tank top, then headed to the kitchen for a much-needed caffeine fix.

“Oh!” Hope didn’t expect anyone else in the kitchen, but there was Raphael…making coffee?

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.” The edge to his voice gave Hope a brief pang of guilt about sleeping in too long. He handed her the steaming cup, then walked to the fridge, pulling out eggs, bread, and butter. Hope watched, frozen in place, as he turned on the stove, pulled a bowl out of the cupboard, cracked a few eggs into it, and began to scramble them.

“You…can cook?”

“A few things, yes. One of the other Nephilim taught me.” He continued to make breakfast while Hope padded to the counter to add sugar and milk to her coffee. Then she perched on one of the barstools at the island, sipping her coffee while she watched. A few minutes later, he set a plate in front of her. It looked okay, but Hope was hesitant as she took a bite.

“It’s good!”

“You need not sound so surprised.” Raphael frowned. Hope blushed, but she took another bite. The eggs _were_ good. “Do not tarry. We have much to do today.”

“Like what?” Hope spoke around a mouthful of food. She was hungrier than she thought.

“I am going to show you how to kill demons.” He said it casually, like he was going to teach her how to ski or ride a bike. Hope nearly choked on her toast.

“Really? So soon? I thought we would work up to that.”

“Perhaps I have been unclear,” Raphael began, his voice clipped, brow furrowed. “We do not have time to ‘work up’ to anything. Are you ready?”

“No. Yes. I guess so.” Sliding off the stool, Hope gulped down the rest of her coffee, having a feeling she would need it. Then followed Raphael as he headed to the door leading to her dorm room. She watched as he pressed an unmarked area on the wall to its left, revealing a hidden door, just like downstairs. He stepped aside, letting Hope walk through first, into the same circular hallway as before. She let him lead her to the elevator, trying to keep her bearings, wishing the doors were labelled somehow. They went down a floor, then along another hallway, passing a couple more doors until they reached one which, by Hope’s estimation, was on the other side of the building from the living area. Raphael placed his hand on the door, the lock clicking open. He then turned to Hope.

“The doors are activated by touch; simply place your hand upon them. All the rooms you need to access will open for you.” The implication in his voice was clear “You have access to the elevator, as well.”

“Thanks,” she replied, pushing open the door to walk into what had to be the training room. It was massive, windowless, and nearly empty, the walls unadorned white plaster, except for a long mirror which ran along the top half of the far wall. A row of training dummies, with large targets painted on their straw chests, stood along another wall to her left, and what looked like a large, antique wooden wardrobe took up most of the opposite wall to her right.

Raphael crossed the room to the wardrobe, his boots making a dull thud on the hardwood floor. Hope followed, wishing she had worn something more substantial than a pair of running shoes. With his dark jeans, t-shirt and fitted leather jacket, he looked ready for battle, while she looked more prepared for a yoga class. Oh, well. Too late to do anything about it now. And at least her clothes weren’t too restrictive.

“Holy Mother of God!” This was no wardrobe. It was an arsenal. Several bows and crossbows hung from hooks along the back, sheathed blades mounted along both doors. One drawer was filled with throwing knives and belts, another with arrows and bolts of varying sizes. Hope was pretty sure she even saw a flail amongst the weaponry. “Am I going to learn how to use all this stuff?” Hope reached for a lovely longbow, the riser in the shape of dove. She’d always wanted to learn archery.

“Not today. The only weapon you need concern yourself with is this,” Raphael replied, drawing one of the smaller, leather-covered blades from its mount on the left door, unsheathing it. It was a double-edged dagger with a simple blade, the pewter hilt carved in the shape of an angel. The cross-guards were angel’s arms, bent at the elbows and reaching toward the point of the blade with sharp points of their own. The bare feet of the angel stood on the pommel, carved to look like Earth.

“It’s beautiful,” Hope breathed as Raphael handed it to her. As soon as her hand closed around the hilt, the blade glowed a brilliant blue-white. Hope’s eyes widened.

“This is an angel blade. It may look simple enough, but it is the deadliest weapon in this collection. It may be used to kill anything: demonic, angelic, or mundane.” Hope didn’t think there was anything simple-looking about it. She could _feel_ the power running through the glowing blade, making her hand feel warm and tingly, as if the circulation had just returned after going numb.

“Does it always glow like that?”

“Only when wielded by Nephilim. In the hands of anyone else, even an angel, it functions like any ordinary dagger.”

“Cool.” Hope was only half-listening, still mesmerized by the glowing blade. She slowly swung it back and forth, following the light trail as it moved.

“You had best be careful with that.” Raphael stepped back as Hope’s swinging got broader, narrowly missing his arm. Hope snapped out of her trance, feeling her face flame.

“Oops. Sorry.” Head lowered, she gave the dagger back to Raphael. He sheathed the blade in its blue-leather casing, etched with clouds and a sun, then pulled a similar-sized dagger from its place on the righthand door, handing it to her. It looked and felt identical to the dagger she had just held, but the blade was ordinary steel—it gleamed dully from the reflected light overhead, nothing more.

“Perhaps we should practice with something a little less deadly, hmm?” Raphael lips twitched as he tried—and failed—to conceal a smile. “Now, let us start with some target practice.” He led Hope across the room toward the dummies, pulling one from the wall.

They spent the next several hours practicing, Hope learning how move into attack stance, then into a defensive one; how to thrust and parry; and, after she barely got the basics, she and Raphael spent the rest of the day sparring. They only stopped once, about midway through, when Alexi appeared with a plate of food, which Hope wolfed down, hardly tasting it.

By the time she returned to her dorm room that evening, she was more exhausted than she could ever remember being, even after the epic eighteen-hour shift she had done last year. Muscles ached that she’d never felt before, bruises peppering her arms and legs. She didn’t bother with dinner or changing her clothes, just draped herself across the bed, falling asleep in seconds.


	7. I Bet You Say That to All the Nephilim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s quite the order.” An unfamiliar deep voice, right beside her. She whirled around, startled.  
> It was him.  
> The guy from the bar, inches away, absolutely invading her personal space. His dark gray-blue eyes bored into her own, his black hair brushing against his neck, his full lips half-lifted in a coy smile. She could feel her cheeks getting hot as she stepped back, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.  
> Strangely for her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.  
> “This is usually the part where you tell me your name,” he said softly. To her growing horror, she was still rendered speechless. “I’ll go first. I’m Seth.” Still smirking, he stepped back. Hope took a deep breath, willing herself to not drop her coffee when she realized her hands were shaking.  
> “I’m…Hope.” She stammered, her cheeks growing even hotter, if that was even possible. She hadn’t felt this uneasy around a guy since her first boy-girl dance in seventh grade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope learns to teleport and has a very eventful coffee date.  
> A prodigal son returns with some very bad news.

Hope opened her eyes, gazing around the training room, feeling her frustration mounting. “This isn’t working,” she said, clenching her jaw. Then tried to relax, blowing out a huge, noisy breath, forcing her fists to unfurl.

The last couple of days had been the same as the first. She woke in the morning, had breakfast in the kitchen with Raphael, then spent the morning training with the angel blade replica; after lunch—brought by Alexi—she practiced her other powers. This was the second afternoon she had tried to teleport, with no results.

“You need to focus. This is not going to come as easily as healing,” Raphael said, the picture of calm patience—eyes steady, face relaxed, a small encouraging smile on his lips. “You must believe you can do it.”

She glared at him. “I wasn’t aware we were in a Disney movie,” she muttered. Then, more loudly, “Yeah, well maybe I can’t.” Raphael’s expression didn’t change.

“You can. All Nephilim can. But not when you are so tense and aggravated.” Raphael rose from his wooden chair and walked over to her, then stood behind her, placing his warm slender hands on her shoulders, not seeming to care about the jolt of electricity the touch produced. Hope let her shoulders drop, taking another deep breath, releasing it more slowly this time, letting the tension leave her body. “That is better. You must not let yourself get frustrated. I remember it took Gideon a week before he could teleport across the room.”

“We don’t have a week,” Hope snapped, taking a couple of steps forward, out of reach of Raphael. Just like that, the tension returned, her head starting to pound. “I have to go back in a week. I’m supposed to work.”

“Hope—”

“I _know_. But if I’m _not_ going back, I need to take a leave of absence or something. And I can’t do that from here.” She turned, giving him a smirk. “Not unless you get cell reception up here.”

“Very well.” Raphael sighed, running his fingers through his curls. “Let us practice for a while longer and then we will return to your home so you may make arrangements. Although, if you did learn to teleport, you could go home immediately.” One side of his mouth curled in a sly smile.

Hope narrowed her eyes, her smile more genuine this time. “You’re trickier than you look there, mister.” She straightened, shaking the tension from her hands. “Fine. Let’s try again.” Closing her eyes, she let her breathing and heart rate slow like they did when she was healing. But instead of focusing her energy on her hands, she concentrated on her apartment, seeing it in her mind’s eye. She thought of her living room, visualizing the framed sunset photo on the wall behind the couch. Of her kitchen, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee in her favorite mug. Of her bed, and the feeling of snuggling under the covers with a good book and a glass of wine.

As she did this, she felt a rush of air across her face, a sense of being whirled around like one of those teacup rides. It made her dizzy; she opened her eyes to stop the spinning. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

She was standing in her living room.

She looked around, half-expecting it to look different, but it was exactly how she left it. Same walls, same carpet, and same couch, which she sank onto in disbelief, an incredulous smile growing across her face. “I did it! I actually did it!”

“I knew you could.” She didn’t even hear Raphael, but he appeared, standing in her dining room. He crossed the room, reaching over to place her phone on the table in front of her. “I thought perhaps you could use this.”

“Thanks.” She left it there, heading toward the kitchen to make coffee. “How’d you know I would come here?”

“It is easiest to teleport to a familiar place,” he replied, following her. “Nephilim are unable to go to a place to which they have not yet been. It is too difficult to visualize.”

“Makes sense.” Hope opened the cupboard, then threw her head back, not able to hold back her groan of annoyance. “I’m out of coffee.”

“You could make tea,” Raphael offered, scanning the shelf.

“No, I couldn’t.” Slamming the cupboard closed, she grabbed a pitcher of water from the fridge, filling a large glass before returning to the living room. “I guess, since I’m here, I can call work and arrange for a leave of absence.”

Raphael nodded. “That would be wise.” Hope snatched the phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found her work number. Then she looked up at him, scowling.

“You just going to hang around and wait?”

“No.” He retreated a couple steps. “I have a matter to attend to back at the Hall. When you are finished, return to the common room.” His expression looked troubled. “I would not tarry here for long. You are—”

“Not safe. Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. Then her eyes shot up to meet his again, panicked. “What if I can’t do it again?”

“You will. The first time is always the most difficult.”

“I bet you say that to all the Nephilim.” Hope winked at him, then nearly burst out laughing as his cheeks pinked. Raphael closed his eyes as if praying for patience, then sighed through his nose and vanished.

Hope hated lying but she had to do it, through her teeth, to get her indefinite leave of absence. She told her manager her mother was dying, and she needed to go take care of her. Never mind that she hadn’t spoken to her mother in months. And wasn’t planning on changing that anytime soon.

When she was done with that chore, she checked the rest of her messages. A couple of voice mails from her mother—she must have conjured her up. She left those to deal with later, only feeling a little bit bad about ignoring them. At least she didn’t just delete them like she normally did.

Then there were about a dozen messages from Chris, asking where she was. If she was okay.

This whole lack of cell coverage was going to be a problem.

Feeling incredibly guilty, Hope replied.

 **Me** :  
I’m so sorry I haven’t texted you back  
I’m okay  
I’ve been training with that archangel, Raphael  
there’s no cell service there

 **Chris** :  
what place on earth doesn’t have cell service?

Hope laughed without humor. What place on Earth, indeed. She still wasn’t sure if Chris believed anything she’d told her before; Hope had no idea what her reaction would be on learning she’d just spent the last three days in _Heaven_. If she hadn’t been there herself, she wouldn’t have believed it, either. She decided to ignore that question.

 **Me** :  
I just got off the phone with Mary  
took an indefinite leave of absence

 **Chris** :  
so, who’s dying?  
winky face emoji

 **Me** :  
my mom lol  
you know, the one I never talk to  
I said she was dying and I have to take care of her  
but I can’t stick around  
I’ll text you next time I’m back in town

 **Chris** :  
wait  
you’re leaving already?  
what about a quick coffee before you go?

 **Me** :  
I can’t  
I should head back

 **Chris** :  
just a quick one  
you can tell me how the training is going, Warrior Princess

Hope snorted. Then sighed. It would be nice to see a familiar face. Maybe if she wasn’t gone too long—

 **Me** :  
very funny _  
_where?

 **Chris** :  
I’m not far from The Roasters near your house  
in 10?

 **Me** :  
see you then!

Hope headed to the front door before she realized she didn’t have her keys. And her car was still parked in the middle of the forest, at least a two-hour drive away. Guess it was as good a time as any to try teleporting again. She spent almost as much time at that coffee shop as she did at home, so it was certainly familiar enough.

Tucking her phone into her back pocket, she closed her eyes, focusing on the side entrance door, on the warm blast of coffee-infused air which greeted her every time she stepped inside. She let her heart rate drop, her breathing becoming deep and even. She felt the same dizzying rush of wind, the same sensation of being swept up in a tornado.

Then stillness.

Hope opened her eyes and looked around, searching to see if anyone noticed her sudden appearance. It wasn’t likely, since she was standing on a roof. She crouched, then made her way to one ledge, peering over it, the familiar blue and white sign just below.

At least she got the right building.

She gauged the distance down, then, continuing to crouch so she wouldn’t be seen, she made her way around the roof until she reached the back of the store. Hoping nobody suddenly turned the corner, she shimmied down until she was holding the gutter, legs dangling beneath her. She closed her eyes and let go, landing on the pavement with relative grace. At least she didn’t fall on her ass.

Hope pushed open the door, breathing in the intoxicating aroma of fresh ground coffee. Her second home. She ordered her drink—thanking the coffee gods for the app on her phone she could use to pay—and stood at the end of the counter to wait.

“Tall, non-fat, no whip, mocha with two pumps, and chocolate drizzle.” Hope stepped up to the counter to pick up her coffee, then turned around, looking for a place for her and Chris to sit.

“That’s quite the order.” An unfamiliar deep voice, right beside her. She whirled around, startled.

It was him.

The guy from the bar, inches away, absolutely invading her personal space. His dark gray-blue eyes bored into her own, his black hair brushing against his neck, his full lips half-lifted in a coy smile. She could feel her cheeks getting hot as she stepped back, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Strangely for her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“This is usually the part where you tell me your name,” he said softly. To her growing horror, she was still rendered speechless. “I’ll go first. I’m Seth.” Still smirking, he stepped back. Hope took a deep breath, willing herself to not drop her coffee when she realized her hands were shaking.

“I’m…Hope.” She stammered, her cheeks growing even hotter, if that was even possible. She hadn’t felt this uneasy around a guy since her first boy-girl dance in seventh grade. Seth reached forward, grasping Hope’s icy fingers in his own warm, smooth ones.

“Oh!” Hope felt a jolt, just like when Raphael touched her; she leapt back, dropping her entire cup of coffee on the floor. Seth’s arm convulsed too, but he didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers curled against hers, pulling her closer, the smirk gone, Hope now close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. The cologne he wore was expensive and heady and instantly arousing.

She barely came up to his shoulder, had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Her heart galloped against her ribcage, her breath catching, like she had been running too fast for too long. His lips parted as he leaned forward, Hope’s eyes closing of their own volition. She had never let a man she’d _just_ met ever get anywhere as near as Seth was now, but she wanted him to kiss her more than anything.

“We should get you another coffee,” he murmured. Her eyes flew open again. His face was millimeters from hers, his pupils huge, surrounded by steel-blue halos. She knew her own pupils were just as blown, her cheeks flaming, heat pooling in her belly.

Then he stepped back, squeezing her hand once before letting it go. “Besides, your date is here.”

“My…what?” Seth didn’t reply, just pointed to the main door behind her. She turned her head to spot Chris coming in, confusion and mild alarm on her face. When Hope turned back to Seth, he was gone.

“I recognize that guy. He’s the one from the bar the other night, right?” Chris asked, once she reached Hope.

“Yeah.” She took a huge, shaky breath. “Yes. His name is Seth.”

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone.” Chris sounded hurt. Hope snorted, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“I’m not. It’s only the second time I’ve ever laid eyes on him.”

“Wow, he’s done a number on you, then. I wonder what’ll happen the third time.” Chris flashed her a wicked grin as she grabbed Hope’s wrist and led her back into the lineup. Hope could finally feel her pulse returning to normal, her cheeks cooling.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she sighed. “Too bad this place doesn’t serve booze.” Chris snickered, then turned to give her order to the barista.

#

“Gideon. You have been gone too long. I was afraid you would not return to us.” Raphael was surprised to see him here in his office—he would have expected him to shower and change first. The news he brought must have been urgent. And grave.

Gideon stepped back, shaking his head. He was filthy, his leather jacket covered with streaks of dirt and dark red blood, his jeans torn and caked in brighter blood. “I nearly didn’t. We were ambushed in Paris. Lucifer’s been busy.” He brushed a matted lock of dull blond hair off his grubby forehead, dropping his gaze.

“What of the others?” Raphael asked, dreading the answer. Gideon had set out with five other Nephilim—the last of them, besides Hope—including his partner Glenda. He shook his head again. Raphael bowed his—grave news, indeed.

“They fought bravely. You would have been so proud.” Gideon’s voice hitched on the last word, tears shining in his eyes. Raphael stepped around to embrace him, wondering if he would ever get used to losing any of his Nephilim; they were like his children. And Gideon—words could not express Raphael’s relief at his safe return. He wondered how Michael had done it, had coped with the grief, the sense of loss. Perhaps it was what made him so severe and unyielding.

“I am sorry to lose them,” Raphael said, taking a step back. “But at least you are back with us.” He grasped Gideon’s shoulder, leading him out of the office, into the open, airy atrium toward the elevator, Gideon pressing his hand to the panel to call it down. “Once you are refreshed, join me in the common room. I have someone for you to meet.”

“Ah. The new Nephilim.” One side of Gideon’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I take it you found him.”

“Yes. I found _her_ ,” Raphael said, an answering smile creeping onto his face. “She is…a handful. You two should get on quite well.”

#

Hope was getting the hang of this teleporting thing, taking much less effort to get back to her dorm room; she only had to relax and think of the place before feeling the now-familiar rush of air. She didn’t even feel like vomiting this time.

She sat on the bed, trying to get her bearings before facing Raphael.

Seth. He wasn’t human—at least, not quite. There was something different about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He was…dark. A demon, maybe? But he wasn’t the same as the shadow she had encountered near the morgue. Nor that possessed doctor. She didn’t feel the same sense of…wrongness she’d felt near them. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe she could be so viscerally attracted to the very thing she was meant to hunt.

“Ugh.” She stood, pacing the brightly lit room, running her fingers through her tangled hair. The reddish-pink glow of the setting sun caused the towers outside her window to blaze in dazzling shades of ruby, violet, and fuchsia, but she barely noticed. She should tell Raphael about Seth. But she _really_ didn’t want to. Didn’t want Raphael to tell her to stay away from him. Not that she had any way of finding him again, even if she wanted to.

“Ugh!” She threw her head back, pulling a hair tie out of her pocket, gathering her hair into a messy knot at her neck as she headed to the kitchen. She needed a glass of water. Maybe something stronger.

“Oh! I…wasn’t expecting anyone else.” Hope stopped dead in the doorway, gaping at the stranger sitting at the island. He looked to be about her age, with damp blond curls—almost too long—brushing against the collar of his shirt, hints of copper glinting in the overhead lights. He wore black jeans and a snug black t-shirt which emphasized his trim, muscular body. Turning to her as she spoke, he glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back to the open book on the counter in front of him.

“You must be the new kid,” he said. “I’m Gideon.” He waved his arm toward the stool beside him; Hope hesitantly walked over and perched on the edge of it.

“Are you—”

“Nephilim. Like you. Well, maybe not _quite_ like you,” he said, his bright blue eyes roaming from her face—wisps of hair already escaping their elastic—to her usual outfit of a tank top, hoodie, yoga pants, and scuffed sneakers. “I just came back from an assignment.” He took a sip of coffee, Hope turning toward the counter to see if there was any left. “Help yourself,” he said, following her gaze.

Hope jumped up and poured a cup, feeling his eyes on her back. She added milk and sugar, then returned to the table, taking a seat across from him. “An assignment?”

“Yeah. There was a huge surge of demonic activity in Europe. We think Lucifer’s been trying to grow his numbers there. We managed to take down a bunch of the demons, but they just kept coming. I was lucky to get out of Paris with my life. The others were…less lucky.”

“Others? Alexi said there were more of you—of us—but I haven’t seen anyone since I got here.”

“There used to be more of us, most living here in the dorms, maybe a few down on Earth. Now there are—I don’t know if there are any others left. I lost five of our best on that last mission.” He dropped his head.

“I’m sorry.” Hope took a sip of coffee, feeling incredibly awkward. The silence lengthened, making Hope feel even more uneasy, but just as she began to slide from the stool to leave, Gideon lifted his head, a slight sheen to his eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone, his face stretching into an indulgent smile, a dimple appearing just below his left cheek.

“So, how are you liking training so far? You’re a lot older than the usual neophytes.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes without thinking. “I’m not that old. I’m only twenty-eight.”

The smile vanished. “Most Nephilim begin training at fifteen or sixteen. Some of them never even see twenty-eight. So, up here, you _are_ that old.” Hope didn’t know how to respond to that, so she buried her face in her coffee cup, her cheeks flaming.

“Ah, Gideon. I see you have met Hope.” Raphael materialized in the common area and walked over, perching himself on the stool next to Gideon. Side-by-side, their facial features were remarkably similar. They both had the same high, strong cheekbones, the same straight yet delicate nose, the same cobalt-blue eyes. Hope’s eyes widened as they met Raphael’s; he shook his head once, looking alarmed.

That was Hope’s cue to leave. She didn’t want to embarrass herself further by letting something slip about their resemblance, and she definitely didn’t want to talk about her coffee date with Chris. She bolted from her seat, her empty coffee cup landing on the counter with a loud clatter. “I just remembered…I have to—” she stammered, not bothering to finish her sentence before racing back to the door leading to her room.

“Apparently I made an impression,” Gideon remarked to Raphael, just as she was closing the door behind her. She could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Indeed.”


	8. You Can Handle Anything Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope swallowed a gasp as she concentrated further. The blade shuddered even more, thumping against the wood, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. She could feel beads of sweat trickle down her face, stinging her eyes, but she refused to blink them away. She had never tried so hard to do anything in her life, but the damned thing would do nothing but convulse against the table.  
> “Motherfucker!” She leapt from her chair, knocking it to the floor, her hands wringing through her hair, dislodging the elastic barely holding her curls in place at the nape of her neck. She didn’t get a chance to retrieve it before she heard a loud thunk across the room. Her head snapped up and over to the source of the noise. Then met Raphael’s gaze, his thunderstruck expression likely matching her own.  
> The practice blade had flown across the room. Embedded itself to the hilt in the middle of a training dummy, right where its heart would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope learns telekinesis, with explosive results. She and Gideon become fast friends, and then she gets some unwelcome news.

Hope glared at the practice blade on the table in the middle of the training room, willing the dagger to move, even just an inch, but it stubbornly remained still. She had been learning—if that was the right word—telekinesis this morning, but it wasn’t going well. Her eyes burned as she stared, not letting them blink, not letting them move from the blade in front of her. She tried to slow her heart rate and breathing like before, but she could feel her frustration building, a lump forming in the back of her throat which just grew bigger the longer she sat there.

“Ugh!” She threw her head back. “I’m never going to get this!” She rolled her eyes, turning to Raphael who was reading a very old-looking, leather-bound book,. “Maybe I just can’t do it.”

With infuriating calm, Raphael placed the book on the floor beside his chair and stood, crossing the room toward her. “Perhaps. But you did say the same thing about teleporting,” he pointed out. She glowered at him. “Or perhaps you simply need to take a break. To do something easier. Would you like to practice some combat training instead?”

“No,” she spat. “I’ll move this goddamn thing if it’s the last thing I do.” She shook her arms, rolling her head to loosen it up before returning her attention to the dagger. She took a few slow, deep breaths, willing her body to calm itself, for her heart to regain its normal rhythm, then slow as her focus deepened. She ignored everything but the blade, letting the rest of the room, including Raphael, disappear from her mind. Nothing happened for a long time, but then the blade began to twitch, ever so slightly. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she wasn’t so laser-focused on it.

Hope swallowed a gasp as she concentrated further. The blade shuddered even more, thumping against the wood, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. She could feel beads of sweat trickle down her face, stinging her eyes, but she refused to blink them away. She had never tried so hard to do anything in her life, but the damned thing would do nothing but convulse against the table.

“Motherfucker!” She leapt from her chair, knocking it to the floor, her hands wringing through her hair, dislodging the elastic barely holding her curls in place at the nape of her neck. She didn’t get a chance to retrieve it before she heard a loud _thunk_ across the room. Her head snapped up and over to the source of the noise. Then met Raphael’s gaze, his thunderstruck expression likely matching her own.

The practice blade had flown across the room. Embedded itself to the hilt in the middle of a training dummy, right where its heart would be.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. The fury she’d felt only moments ago evaporated, replaced with bone-deep horror.

What had she just done?

“Wow. Guess I should make sure not to piss _you_ off.” Both Hope and Raphael whirled their heads over to see Gideon leaning against the doorway, arms and legs crossed, brows raised, a lazy smile on his face.

“I don’t—I didn’t—” Hope stammered, feeling like her knees were going to give out. She reached over and grabbed the chair, sinking into it, dropping her head in her hands.

“Oh, yes you did. Saw it with my own baby blues.” Hope heard footsteps, then a soft thud as Gideon strolled over to the dummy and pulled out the blade. The footsteps grew louder as he approached, the dagger appearing below her face. She raised her head and saw Gideon kneeling before her, lips twitching, presenting the blade hilt-first, in a parody of a knight kneeling before a queen.

She snatched it from his grasp and turned back to Raphael. “I’m guessing you don’t want me practising any more telekinesis right now.” She tried to make her voice light, but she couldn’t disguise the tremor that crept into it. The feeling she had just before the dagger went flying—it was more than mere frustration. For that one moment, she’d felt a rage she had never felt before, like her spine had been speared with a white-hot poker.

It scared the crap out of her.

“I think we are quite done with that for the day, yes.” His face appeared composed, but Hope could see the glint of apprehension in his eyes. “Perhaps you could break for an early lunch. We will do some combat training this afternoon.” Hope nodded as she fled from the room, not trusting herself to say—or do—anything more.

#

“That was…impressive.” Gideon spun the chair so the back was facing Raphael, then wrapped his legs around it, arms resting on top, watching Raphael closely.

“Indeed. But perhaps a more accurate term would be terrifying.” Raphael ran his hands through his hair as he began to pace. Gideon could tell he’d been trying to keep his unease at bay while Hope was here, but he let it show now. It made Gideon nervous, too. He’d never seen someone send an object across the room like that. He sure as hell couldn’t do it.

“I have never seen an untrained Nephilim so powerful. Not even you, Gideon,” he said, one side of his lip quirking into a rueful smile as Gideon opened his mouth to protest. “There is no doubt you are one of my strongest warriors. But you _are_ well-trained. Disciplined. In control.” He reached out, gripping Gideon’s shoulder as he passed. “Hope is none of those things. And that is why I fear for her. She may or may not be the one named in the prophesy, but if she does not learn how to control her powers, she may destroy herself and all of us first.”

“I could…I don’t know. Spend some time with her this afternoon, at least. Glenda, she—” Gideon’s voice broke at the mention of his former fighting partner. She’d been killed during the last demon attack in Paris, surrounded by demons while Gideon was busy fighting another pack. He knew it wasn’t reasonable, but the guilt he felt, that he couldn’t reach her in time, couldn’t save her—

He’d never get to hold her again.

Raphael lowered his head. Both were silent, still, until Gideon cleared his throat, lifting his head to stare at the weapons cabinet. “She taught me some exercises. To focus. Maybe I can show them to Hope this afternoon.”

Raphael squeezed Gideon’s shoulder, then ran his hand down his arm to grasp his hand. “I think that is an excellent suggestion,” he said, softly. He squeezed Gideon’s fingers once, then let go, heading for the door.

Gideon stayed there for a long time, staring sightlessly at the wall. Now that he was alone, and not likely to be disturbed, he could finally _finally_ mourn Glenda in peace.

But the tears wouldn’t come. He just kept seeing her, standing in that patch of greenspace by the Eiffel Tower, taking down demon after demon, black blood staining her jeans, her jacket, her face. Gideon had been doing the same, as had the others. But they just kept coming, a never-ending wave. Until she fell.

He couldn’t get to her; there were too many demons in the way, and no matter how many he cut down with his angel blade, it didn’t bring her closer. And when he finally took out the last one, his body nearly spent, a sprawl of corpses at his feet and scattered across the field, she had already joined them. He remembered racing over to her, seeing her blood pooling around a fatal belly wound.

Gideon had dropped to his knees, frantically feeling for a pulse, for any sign of life. But she wasn’t there. There would be no healing from this.

He loosed a deep, long breath. He honestly didn’t even remember returning, everything after that moment a blur until he found himself in Raphael’s office, those eyes, too much like his own, crinkled with concern and sympathy.

But maybe he could help Hope. Maybe he could make sure she didn’t fall to the same fate they all seemed to. If she was as powerful as Raphael said, and could learn to control it, to harness it—

Maybe she would be different.

#

“I understand you have found the untrained Nephilim?” Michael asked as he lowered himself into his chair at the head of the council table. He rested his arms on the glass, his eyes on Raphael, expectant. Raphael nodded, furrowing his brow.

“I have.”

“Is he everything you thought he would be?” sneered Uriel. Both Raphael and Gabriel glowered at him.

“ _She_ is indeed powerful. Perhaps the most remarkable Nephilim I have encountered,” Raphael said. Then he frowned, deciding how much to reveal. “She is undisciplined. And unfocused.” _And dangerous_ , he thought, but centuries-old instinct told him to keep that to himself.

“So, what can she do? Walk on water, turn water into wine, bless the poor…” Uriel’s voice trailed off as he glanced over at Gloria, sheathed at Michael’s back.

“She’s not Jesus. You dolt,” said Gabriel, scowling at him as Azrael rolled her eyes. Then Gabriel turned back to Raphael. “She sounds pretty green. But does she have any skills?”

“She is highly skilled at healing, as you know,” Raphael said, glancing at Azrael, feeling one side of his mouth lift. “She has innate skill in weapons. And she has proven herself proficient in teleportation and telekinesis more swiftly than I would have expected.”

Azrael gave him a severe look, and his smile fell away. He returned her gaze, silently asking her not to press, not to compel him to reveal anything more.

It was not effective.

“What aren’t you telling us?” she asked. He blinked his eyes closed, glancing over at Uriel when he opened them once more. Who was staring at Gloria, his eyes glazed and hazy. Raphael took a deep breath, considering his next words carefully.

“I am…concerned her abilities may be stronger than her control,” he said finally, casting his eyes back to Azrael and Gabriel, who both wore matching expressions of disquiet.

“Do you mean she is dangerous?” asked Michael. Raphael turned to him; Michael stood, leaning over the table, his eyes piercing Raphael’s. For the second time today, he felt apprehension grip his insides, but, also for the second time today, he forced his face into impassiveness.

“What he’s asking, what all of us _actually_ want to know, is if she could be the one from the prophesy. Could she destroy Heaven and Earth? Is there anything of ‘the profane’ in her?” Raphael tore his eyes from Michael’s, relieved that Uriel, if nothing else, could be counted on to be utterly tactless.

“I do not believe she is.” He lied softly. “Perhaps…her abilities are more pronounced due to her age. She _is_ much older than the others were. But with age comes _wisdom_ —” he could not help but smirk at the dig “—so perhaps, with time, she will prove as proficient in her restraint as in her skills.” Uriel sneered at him again but did not respond.

“We don’t seem to have an abundance of time,” warned Michael. Raphael did not reply; he just returned Michael’s quelling gaze, raising his brows. After a long moment, Michael turned his eyes to Gabriel. “Have you heard anything more about Lucifer’s army?” She frowned, shaking her head.

“Nothing new. He’s still sending demons to Earth, and—” she turned to Raphael. “Hey, I thought I saw Gideon. Are he and the others back? How did—oh.” He shook his head; her expression turned sorrowful. “They didn’t all come back.”

Raphael did not wish to talk about it, was not prepared to acknowledge that Gideon and Hope were the only Nephilim left. That they were the only two standing between Lucifer and victory if he attacked. When he attacked. He lowered his head, surprised at the drops of water he saw on the desk. No, not water.

Tears.

“Gideon was the only one to return,” he said, finally, the words forcing him to accept his new reality. Then he saw Gabriel’s outstretched hand before him. He took it in his own, grateful for the touch although he did not usually enjoy physical contact.

“I’m so sorry, Raph,” she said. He nodded, at a loss for what to say next.

“Well,” said Uriel. “I guess we’re fucked now.”

#

“Thank God, you seem to drink as much coffee as I do,” Gideon said as he strolled into the kitchen an hour later, pouring himself a cup. Hope’s head snapped up, startled at his voice. She sat at the island, her hands wrapped around her own mug, now nearly empty and cold. Until he came in, she’d been re-playing the scene from that morning in her head, over and over, trying to get a handle on it. She let a slight smile touch her lips.

“Well, I’m no Lorelei Gilmore, but…” She raised her mug in a mock salute and took a sip, grimacing. Cold coffee really was the worst. Gideon draped himself against the sink across for her, legs crossed, but his expression was intense. She could only meet it for a moment before she felt herself flush and dropped her eyes, hearing him place his mug on the counter and walk toward her until she could see the tops of his boots.

“C’mon, let’s go do something fun.” He took the cup from her hands, setting on the table. She looked up; Gideon was smiling down at her, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She found herself smiling in return.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you do for fun around here?”

“Did you ever get to the see the outside of this place?”

Hope shook her head.

Gideon grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet, looking down at her shoes and nodding to himself. “There’s a balcony that runs around it, starting from the training room all the way to the roof. We’re going to race to the top.”

“A race? That doesn’t sound like much fun.” Still, she let him lead her to the door, curiosity winning out. Gideon turned toward her as he pulled her though the door into the hallway.

“Wait’ll you see the view.” He winked at her, then led her down the elevator and around the circular hallway. He paused in front of a door to the right of the training room, then thrust his palm against it, pushing open the door, letting Hope exit first. She stepped out onto a balcony that felt like it was made of glass, but when she looked down it was more opaque, like iridescent golden marble. It looked like the same material as the walls and floor of the lobby, and the table of the kitchen.

It hugged the side of the building, with a rail of gold filigree running along the outside. It was maybe wide enough to accommodate two skinny people walking side by side, if they didn’t need much personal space.

“It’s citrine. Yellow quartz.” Gideon answered her question before she could ask, standing just near enough for her to feel his warmth. “It’s sturdier than it seems.” Hope shivered in her light t-shirt and track pants. Despite the brilliance of the sunshine all around her, the air wasn’t warm. She looked along the balcony as it rose steeply up and around the building, nervousness prickling her already goosebumped skin.

“We’re going to run this? But it’s all uphill,” she protested. Gideon chuckled.

“You’re Nephilim. You’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“Hope.” He turned toward her, his blond curls falling in his face, his eyes serious. “You have to forget you’re an ordinary human, with ordinary limitations. You’re not. It’s what holds you back in your training. I saw it this morning. You didn’t think you could move that blade because it’s not what regular people do. It was only in your frustration, when you lost control, that you allowed the Nephilim in you to come out.” He took a deep breath. “I was in your position, so I know how hard it is to let go, to let yourself be _more_.” He held her gaze for another moment, then shook his head, the usual half-mocking expression back on his face. “Of course, I was much younger than you at the time…”

Hope laughed, trying to dispel some of the tension. “All right, let’s do this.” She turned back until she was facing the balcony again, seeing the rise of it, willing herself to not worry about how steep it looked. She took a deep breath and shook out her hands.

“Okay on the count of three. One, two—” Gideon took off at a run, sprinting so fast he was nearly around the curve before Hope could react. She cursed to herself, breaking into a dash, only realizing as she began to climb that she was running faster than she ever had, that she wasn’t even out of breath. It felt effortless, like she could run like this all day, the cool air brushing past her cheeks, pulling her hair loose from the elastic at her neck. She pushed herself harder, climbing up and up until she could just see Gideon round the curve ahead of her. Putting on one last burst of speed, she caught up to him just as they reached the roof.

“Holy—” Hope was speechless. She thought the view from her dorm room was spectacular, but this was on a whole different level. From here, the tops of the spires were at eye-level, an endless expanse of sky beyond them.

“Not bad, eh?” Gideon chuckled. “Each of those buildings is headed by a different archangel. Sort of like a celestial government.” He led her to the rail, pointing to the blindingly white building closest to them just to their left, the gilt of the balcony railings gleaming in the late afternoon light. “That’s the Hall of Wisdom. Uriel’s the boss there. He’s kind of a dick.”

Hope burst out laughing. “Are you allowed to say that about an archangel? It doesn’t seem like it should be allowed,” she said, once she could breathe again.

Gideon shrugged, grinning. “It’s true.” He then pointed at the rose colored, art-deco building to their right, further away from Uriel’s. “That’s the Hall of Intelligence. Gabriel’s in charge there. She knows _everything_.”

“Wait, Gabriel is a woman? I thought all archangels were male.”

“Nope. Archangels, and all angels for that matter, don’t have a gender. At least not an assigned one. They’re celestial; their true form, which we can see if we really want to—”

“I saw Raphael’s,” said Hope in a hushed voice, remembering the brilliant white energy glowing in her living room when she first met him.

“Whoa.” Gideon whistled, turning to face her. “Really? He showed you that?” Hope turned back to the rail, unsettled. Was he not supposed to? But Gideon didn’t elaborate; he just resumed his explanation.

“Well, anyway, Raphael and the others chose a human form, ages ago, and pretty much stuck with it. They can change it if they want, but they don’t really bother.” He winked at her. “I think they’re so used to it they don’t even notice anymore. The angels can choose how they look, too, but because they didn't have to interact with humans nearly as much, they don't seem to bother choosing a gender.”

“So Alexi—”

“Truly nonbinary.”

So, if the angels—and archangels for that matter—just _looked_ human—

Hope turned to Gideon, confused. “Then how do Raphael and the other create Nephilim?” She felt her face start to burn. “You know, if they aren't—”

“I don’t know.” Gideon shrugged, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “I try not to think about it that much.” Hope dropped her gaze, and a long, awkward pause followed.

Finally, Gideon cleared his throat, his face returning to its normal color as he pointed to a building to their right. It was a deep gray, almost black, but it reflected the dying sunlight like a dark mirror, the tower shaped like a large, long cone, interspersed here and there with smaller spikes. “The Hall of Death. Azrael’s domain. It’s made of hematite, also known as the truth stone.” Hope shivered, and not just from the air cooling the sweat along her neck and back.

“Whose is that?” She asked, changing the subject, pointing to an amethyst-colored building between Uriel’s and Gabriel’s in the distance. The center of the building was a wide, high dome, with large, rounded towers on either side.

“The Hall of Protection. It’s Michael’s. Before Raphael, he was tasked with training Nephilim. Michael—” he started, looking serious. “I don’t know if Raphael told you much about celestial politics, but God’s…missing. Has been for a long time. After he vanished, Michael found Gloria laid across his desk—”

“God’s sword.”

Gideon nodded. “Yes. God’s holy weapon. It’s a big-ass sword, made from the same material as our angel blades.” He sighed, leaning forward until his chest was resting against the rail, fingers wrapped around the gilt metal. “When God disappeared…”

“Michael was put in charge.”

“He didn’t want to be. But he _was_ the eldest brother.” Gideon sighed again, pushing away from the rail. “At least, the eldest brother still up here. Lucifer is older. He would’ve inherited the throne if he hadn’t fallen. He clearly still thinks it belongs to him; it’s why we think he’s getting ready for an attack. He knows he couldn’t possibly win against God if he was still here. But when the cat’s away…”

“Jesus.” Hope turned away from the railing, slumping her back against it. A short spire of golden stone rose to a point in front of her, gleaming in the dying light. She stared at it without seeing it, as the realization of what was coming hit her.

A war. A real one. With stakes she was only beginning to comprehend.

She felt the blood drain from her face as she struggled to breathe, a giant frozen ball lodging in the pit of her stomach.

“Hope.” Gideon crouched in front of her. “Hey. Are you okay?” Hope blinked a couple of times, bringing his face into focus. She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but it didn’t come out right; Gideon grasped her icy hands, pulling her to her feet, closer to him. “By the heavens, you’re freezing!” She didn’t even realize she was shivering again until Gideon wrapped his arms around her, holding her until it stopped.

She took a deep breath; something about Gideon smelled like lemons, his soap or laundry detergent, maybe. It was oddly calming, as was he. She didn’t usually go around hugging relative strangers, but—she pulled away.

“I’m okay.” She smiled again, this time more genuine. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

Gideon chuckled, taking her hand in his, leading her back down the tower. It was growing dark, the moon starting to rise, reflecting off the citrine path with a pale-yellow glow. “Yeah. It _is_ a lot to deal with. But you’re Nephilim. You can handle anything now.”

#

“Hope. Gideon.” Raphael’s expression when they walked into the common room—a mixture of unease and sympathy—made Hope freeze. Gideon blushed, dropping her hand like it was on fire, then all but ran to the kitchen, making a show of grabbing the water pitcher from the fridge and pouring a glass.

“Raphael—we were just—Gideon wanted to show me—” she stammered, feeling her own face flaming. God, it wasn’t like they were making out or anything. She wasn’t even attracted to Gideon that way, and neither was he, right? His twinkling eyes met hers over Raphael’s head. He gave her a roguish grin, then winked at her, making her face hotter even as she slowly returned his smile.

“Hope.” Something in Raphael’s voice made her snap her eyes back to him, the smile vanishing from her lips. “I have…some news. Perhaps it would be best if I deliver it in private.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Gideon, looking suddenly uncomfortable, gave an awkward wave and stalked over to the door. As soon as he left, Raphael waved his hand toward the stool beside him at the kitchen island. Hope could feel the concern radiating from him like cologne. She took a reluctant seat, avoiding his eyes.

“Hope.” He spun in his seat toward her and took her hands stiffly into his own. “I am so very sorry to be the bearer of this sorrowful news.” Hope’s head snapped up. Raphael’s eyes, usually so calm and impassive, were filled with pity.

 _Oh, God_.

“Your mother has died.”


	9. Hey, Kiddo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know about my father?” Hope blurted out. That was not the question she intended to ask. It just came out. She looked up at Rob, saw the surprise flash in his eyes before it was replaced with wariness.  
> “What exactly about him?” he asked. Carefully.  
> “Did you know he wasn’t human? That he was an angel?” Rob sighed, then nodded. Hope dropped his hand, bolting from the sofa. “So, you knew about me, about my gift, and how I got it?” He nodded again, looking wretched; the circles under his eyes seemed to deepen.  
> Hope felt a stab of remorse for attacking him, especially now, but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop herself. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Mom tell me?” She felt hot tears sting her eyes again. “All this time, you knew. That I wasn’t normal, that I was some half-angel freak. I never knew why I could heal people, but you did. You both did. And neither of you said a single word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer starts making plans. Hope returns to her childhood home. Samael realizes he's screwed.

“Uriel. This had better be good,” Lucifer growled as he ducked under the lintel of the old church. He wore a pair of green hospital scrubs, a white lab coat—liberally stained with bright red blood—and a stethoscope strung around his neck. Uriel swallowed his revulsion with some effort. The things he did for power—  
“You interrupted a particularly…enjoyable session with a new arrival.”  
“Oh, it is.” Uriel smoothed his face into a smug smile as he sat on the stairs leading to the altar, crossing his legs at the ankle, bracing his hands against the aged marble. “Raphael found the Nephilim. A girl—”  
“Did you think this was news? I’ve known about her for days. So, if you’re done wasting my time—” he turned back toward the door.  
No.  
Uriel needed to stop him, to keep him here, to keep him interested. He needed Lucifer to keep their bargain. “She’s a loose cannon,” he sang. It worked. Lucifer faced him once more, eyebrow quirked.  
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”  
“She’s powerful.” Uriel uncrossed his legs, standing and brushing his hands down his pantlegs, the very picture of unconcern. “But apparently has some issues with restraint. I don’t think Raphael wanted us to know.”  
“Now that is intriguing,” Lucifer said as he stepped closer to Uriel. “So maybe more like raw gunpowder than a loose cannon. Which means maybe she could prove useful—”  
“Raphael also said he didn’t think she was the one from the prophesy,” Uriel confessed. “But he seems more protective of her than he was with the others—oh, and I also learned that the Nephilim are all but wiped out. Just one other—” he held up his index finger “—besides her.”  
“Really?” Lucifer tilted his head back, his fingers dancing over his throat. “See? You could’ve opened with that, maybe. I guess the skirmish in Paris wasn’t the waste I thought it to be.” He turned his attention back to Uriel. “Perhaps we’re looking at the prophesy all wrong.”  
Uriel cocked his head. “Huh?”  
“We’re looking for a chosen one, someone special, someone selected by…Father, I suppose.” Lucifer airily waved his hand. “But whether she is meant to be the one is irrelevant. We can make her be the one.” A calculating smile stretched his lips. “We just need to find a spark to ignite the little firecracker.”  
Uriel understood. They didn’t need destiny, just creativity. If she was as powerful as Raphael said, it didn’t matter if she was the chosen one or not. Because if she was also as volatile as Raphael tried not to say, they just needed to find something or someone to set her off.  
It was perfect. Uriel wasn’t much for prophesies, anyway. Especially since the celestial being responsible for most of them wasn’t even around.  
“Keep up the good work, brother,” Lucifer said, heading back out the door. “And let me know if you learn anything new.”  
#  
“What?” Hope dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut, her entire body going numb. Her mom? “But I didn’t even know she was sick,” she blurted. How could she? She hadn’t so much as texted her in months. Hadn’t seen in her mom in years, not since…well, not since her wedding to Jake. Then she remembered those voicemails she ignored just the other day—  
Wait. Did she cause this somehow? She had used this very excuse to get out of work—had she turned that lie into reality? Did she have the kind of power? Hope stepped away from Raphael, covering her mouth with her hand to push down the sudden rise of horror at the thought.  
“It was an aneurism. I do not know any other details; Azrael was only able to tell me the cause, not the circumstances of her death.”  
“Azrael—” Hope said her name through her fingers. Of course. The Archangel of Death. She would know how her mom died; maybe she would know whether Hope had anything to do with it. “So, does that mean…my mom, she’s…up here?”  
“I do not know. Azrael is kept informed of all deaths, regardless of their destination, but she does not determine whether a soul is exalted to Heaven or condemned to Hell. Her angels are reapers, not judges. That duty belongs to Peter and Peter alone.”  
“So there really is a Saint Peter,” Hope muttered. She looked up and across the kitchen, out the window to the darkening sky outside, the spire of the Hall of Death just visible against the waning light. “Can she—I mean—” Hope wasn’t sure how to ask. “Would Azrael know if I caused—”  
“No.” Raphael’s voice was gentle. “You could not. Even you are not powerful enough to kill others just by thinking it.” Hope slumped with relief—until she was hit with another wave of guilt.  
“I need to go home,” she whispered, still staring at Hall outside.  
“Hope…”  
“I need to go home,” she said more firmly, walking over to the window. “I have to see Rob, to help with the arrangements…”  
“Hope.” Raphael stood as well, following her, but he kept a bit away. “I do not believe it is safe. Lucifer will know your family by know. Where they live, what happened. His demons will find you there.”  
“I don’t care. Raphael—” she started to explain but didn’t know how. She knew she should be feeling sadness and grief at the loss of her mom, but she didn’t—not exactly. What she felt was crushing, overwhelming guilt because she’d let their relationship become so strained, had let months go by without contact—she couldn’t even be bothered to check her mother’s messages.  
She felt horrible that she hadn’t been there when she died.  
She knew enough about aneurisms to know she probably couldn’t have healed her. But she could have tried—or at least been able to say goodbye. She clutched the counter so hard she her knuckles ached as she stared at the metallic black spire with unblinking eyes.  
It grew even darker outside, her eyes burning with strain of keeping the spire separate, not letting it blend in with the blackening sky, but Hope held onto the pain. At least it was something besides this shame, this weight pressing against her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. “I have to go home. Now.”  
“Okay.” Raphael sounded defeated, but when Hope tore her eyes away from the window to look at him, his were full of sympathy. “It is growing late, though. Perhaps you could wait until the morning?” Hope nodded, once. It was late. She would be more of a burden than a help if she turned up on Rob’s doorstep tonight.  
“Go and pack whatever you may need,” Raphael said. “I will go to the training room.” Hope gave him a quizzical look, and his lips lifted in the merest hint of a smile. “I trust you will indulge me in carrying a weapon with you. It would make me feel…better about your visit.” Raphael turned toward the main door as Hope nodded again, heading toward her dorm room, shaking the stiffness from her hands.  
#  
The next afternoon, Hope stood on the doorstep of her parents’ house, duffle bag at her feet, unsure of what to do. Should she knock? Or just go right in? This was the house she’d lived in, had grown up in.  
But that was a long time ago.  
She reached for the door handle, then hesitated, her hands trembling. She lowered them, squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she lifted her hand once more, knuckles poised to rap on the door.  
And then it opened.  
“Hey, kiddo.” Rob, her stepfather, raised his hand in a half-wave. He looked older than she pictured, his once-dark hair mostly grey, much more salt than pepper. He was always broad-shouldered and muscular, but now there was extra flesh around his middle, his face more lined than she remembered, with dark, deep circles under his eyes, shining with unshed tears.  
To her surprise, Hope threw herself into his arms, not able to hold back great, gasping sobs which racked her shoulders and stole her breath. Rob didn’t say a word, just held her and stroked her back until she calmed down, the sobs easing to hiccups.  
I’m sorry—I’m such—a mess.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t…I haven’t seen her in years.”  
“She’s still your mom, kiddo, even if you didn’t get along.” He gave her a rueful smile, swiping at his own eyes, the redness around them making them look even bluer than usual.  
“That’s the understatement of the decade.” Hope chuckled through a thick voice. Rob reached to grab her bag, turning back into the house, Hope following.  
It looked exactly the same as she remembered.  
Same hardwood floors, only maybe a bit more scuffed than before. Same beige area rug. Same beige sofa and chocolate-brown plush recliners. Same white walls, hung with pictures up the stairway leading to the bedrooms: school pictures of Hope and her half-brothers, starting with her graduation picture at the bottom of the stairs.  
“Oh, you got a bigger TV,” she said. Rob chuckled at that, setting her bag aside, then sat in one of the recliners and shut off the TV. Hope perched on the end of the couch, not able to shake the feeling that she was intruding somehow. That she wasn’t welcome.  
But that was ridiculous. She was the one who moved out at the first opportunity. She was just projecting.  
“How are the boys?” she asked, trying to sound like something approaching normal. She kept in touch with her half-brothers, Jason and Dan, but she hadn’t been in contact with them for weeks. Jason lived in Toronto and was some sort of production manager for those Hallmark movies that came out every Christmas and Valentine’s Day, while Dan worked as a laborer in construction and was always moving around. The last time Hope heard from him he was living in Kelowna.  
“They’re okay,” Rob sighed. “They fly in tomorrow.” Hope stared down at her hands for a long time. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say. It felt like the words were all crowded in her throat, choking her so she couldn’t speak.  
“What…what happened?” She asked, looking back up at him.  
“An aneurism. I got up early, as usual. Ev was still asleep, I thought. I made her coffee, and when I went back upstairs to wake her, she was—she—” He couldn’t finish. His eyes filled with tears again as he lowered his head, wrapping his hand around his forehead.  
And then there was a very long, very awkward silence. Hope struggled to find something, anything to say but it all sounded so stupid in her head. What could she possibly say after staying away for so long? How could she possibly show she cared when she couldn’t even be bothered to—  
“I’m so sorry,” Hope finally said. “I wish I was here…that I could have…”  
“The doctor—she said there was nothing anyone could’ve done. It was too sudden.” Hope reached across to take his other hand in hers; her fingers were long but could barely wrap around his knuckles. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, running his hands through his hair, making it stand up in silver-black spikes.  
“Did you know about my father?” She blurted out. That was not the question she intended to ask. It just came out. She looked up at Rob, saw the surprise flash in his eyes before it was replaced with wariness.  
“What exactly about him?” he asked. Carefully.  
“Did you know he wasn’t human? That he was an angel?” Rob sighed, then nodded. Hope dropped his hand, bolting from the sofa. “So, you knew about me, about my gift, and how I got it?” He nodded again, looking wretched; the circles under his eyes seemed to deepen.  
Hope felt a stab of remorse for attacking him, especially now, but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop herself. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Mom tell me?” She felt hot tears sting her eyes again. “All this time, you knew. That I wasn’t normal, that I was some half-angel freak. I never knew why I could heal people, but you did. You both did. And neither of you said a single word.”  
“You can…heal people?” Rob asked, his eyes going wide. “I didn’t—Evelyn didn’t tell me…”  
“But you still knew there was something different about me. Something wrong.” She slumped back down on the couch. Rob sighed, running his hands through his hair again, looking a bit like a morose porcupine. Hope dropped her head so he couldn’t see the tears spill down her cheeks.  
“Kiddo, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not a freak.” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his giant paws. “I always knew you were special, but I had no idea how special. Ev told me your father was an angel, but she never told me you had any gifts. She made me swear not to tell you, which was easy for me because I don’t think I really believed her.”  
“You thought she was lying? Mom had a lot of faults but making up stories wasn’t one of them.”  
“Evelyn only spoke about your father once. You were about six, and she was upset about something, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She told me she was afraid for you, then told me this wild story about how she raised an angel during some sort of ritual, and she learned she was pregnant not long after. That she decided to keep you, knowing you were a divine being. It was pretty hard to believe. I thought maybe she told herself that story because—” Rob swallowed.  
An icy spear shot down Hope’s spine. “Because she was raped. You thought I was a product of rape.”  
“Kiddo, it didn’t make me love either of you any less. In fact,” Rob’s voice broke. “It made me love you more. She was so brave,” he whispered, his voice choked with tears. He stood, pulling Hope up with him. Held out his hands still holding hers, and she stepped into his embrace, his thick arms wrapping around her back. Hope fought to control herself, not to give into another onslaught of grief. She sniffled loudly and Rob let her go.  
“There’s a box in our room. I don’t even know how long she’s had it, how long she’d been saving it for you.” He smiled at Hope with watery, red-rimmed eyes. “She told me, if anything…well, to give it to you. Made me promise not to forget. Maybe…maybe there’ll be some answers in there for you.”  
Hope released him without replying, slowly climbing the stairs, gazing at the photos on the way up. It was like moving backward in time, from high school to kindergarten. She paused at her first-grade photo. Rob said something happened, something which had upset her mom. It must have been the first time she used her healing power, but she couldn’t remember. She reached back in her mind, searching for a memory, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. She sighed, taking the final step into her parents’ room.  
Like the rest of the house, the master bedroom looked the same as the last time Hope had seen it, the bed neatly made with a chocolate-brown bedspread covering lighter brown sheets. David Meowie, their black-and-white cat, was tucked up at the foot of the bed in a shape which could only be described as a loaf. He lifted his head lazily at the intrusion, yawned, then stretched and rolled over onto his back with his paws in the air. Hope walked over to him, absently rubbing his belly as she searched the room.  
There, in the corner beside the dresser. A banker’s box with her name scrawled across the top.  
“All right Davie, let’s see what’s in here.” She stopped petting him just long enough to grab the box and drag it over, then hoisted it onto the bed. David protested with a yowl, jumping off and sauntering into the hallway. “Suit yourself, grumpy cat.” She perched on the edge of the bed beside the box and lifted the lid.  
The first thing she found was a stack of pictures, mostly drawings she’d done when she was little, but there were a few sketches from the one semester of art she took before she realized she was terrible at it. She flipped through them before setting them on the bed beside her, peering at the two neat stacks of books underneath.  
One stack contained a pile of black hardcover notebooks, the kind used for lab notes. The second stack was an assortment of soft-cover and leather-bound books. Hope grabbed one of those and opened it; it was dated just months before she was born, her mother’s loopy handwriting covering the first page.  
A journal.  
Hope’s eyes began to tear, making the words blur together like they’d been smudged. She couldn’t deal with reading this. Not now. She carefully stacked the pictures, put them back in the box, and replaced the lid. Then, taking the stairs one at a time, she carried the box back down.  
Rob was back in the recliner facing the blank TV screen, Davie sprawled on his lap. Hope carefully placed the box on the floor beside her duffle bag, then waited a few moments. When Rob gave no indication he knew she was there, she quietly cleared her throat. He jumped, startling the cat, then turned to her, a sheepish smile on his face. Davie bolted past her, stopping just long enough to give her a reproachful glare.  
“Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t see you there.”  
“That’s okay. I…I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow. For the funeral.”  
“You sure you don’t want to stay here? Your room has some stuff in it, but I could move it to the basement; I’ve been meaning to, anyway. And I could use the company.” Hope was tempted—she hadn’t slept in her old room since the night before her wedding. She opened her mouth to say yes, but she had a sudden vision of demons bursting through the kitchen door. Had a flash of Rob, lying here, his throat slit, his eyes glassy with death, red blood pooling on the carpet beneath him. She shivered, then shook her head.  
“I…can’t. I don’t have a dress in here for the funeral tomorrow. I need to go back home.” She wasn’t lying; when she’d packed for her training, she hadn’t brought anything more formal than her skinny jeans. Now, her bag only had essentials and the angel blade Raphael gave her. “I can come back early tomorrow morning, if you want. Help you set up the house for the reception.”  
“That’s okay. The boys can do that when they get here.” If Rob thought it strange she had a bag that didn’t contain what she needed he didn’t say so. “I’ll help you carry the box to your car.”  
Fuck. Hope had forgotten all about her car—which was still sitting at the end of the abandoned road by the clearing. At the portal.  
She needed to teleport and pick it up, but she wasn’t about to try to explain that. Instead, she slung her bag over one shoulder and grabbed the banker’s box with both hands, balancing it on her knees to straighten herself. “It’s okay. I had to park down the street.” Really far down the street. The thought nearly made her laugh out loud. As it was, Rob gave her a strange look, his head angled to the side. He probably thought she was losing it. He wasn’t wrong; Hope was beginning to wonder that herself. “But maybe, you could get the door for me?”  
“Sure thing.” He stood and followed her to the door, still looking at her like he expected her to lose her mind any minute. He ducked around her to open the door, stepping back so she could pass, giving her an awkward sideways hug, the box in the way. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Drive safe.”  
“I will.” Hope had to shuffle through the door sideways to get through; the box wasn’t heavy but it was awkward. Once she reached the landing, she leaned forward, resting the box on her knees so she could wave goodbye. Rob’s giant paw enveloped her hand once more, squeezing it briefly before he let go.  
Hope walked—or staggered might be more accurate—to the end of the street, then turned into an alley, spinning in a complete circle to make sure she wouldn’t be seen before she teleported back to the clearing. Or at least tried to. Instead of landing by her car, she appeared in a cluster of trees, too thick for her to see which way to go.  
“I really need to get better at this,” she muttered to herself as she dropped both the duffle and the box onto the damp, leaf-strewn ground. She groped for her car keys, pulling them from the side pocket of her bag, and when she pressed the button, she could just hear the horn coming from her right. She slung the bag back over her shoulder, settling the box precariously on her hip as she continued to press the button, following the sound to her car.  
Thankfully, it was just as she left it. She stowed the stuff in the trunk, got in, and started the engine. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky overhead darkening; she could only see glimpses of gold and pink sky between the trees.  
It was going to be a long drive home.  
#  
Samael sat on the stairs of Hope’s apartment building, knees drawn, forehead resting on his arms, trying to figure out what to do next. He hadn’t been here long, just long enough to know she wasn’t home.  
Not that he was expecting her to be.  
He knew she’d spent the last several days with Raphael, training. He’d watched them leave in her car last week. At first, he wondered why they were driving, but figured out Raphael couldn’t teleport them for some reason. Which meant Raphael would’ve needed to find a portal, and the closest one was at least a two-hour drive away.  
Samael had gone there, arriving long before they should’ve, and they took way longer than he expected to show. He’d been starting to wonder if he was wrong about their destination when he saw the headlights. Then, once he watched them vanish through the portal, he knew she’d be up there for a while. Maybe permanently.  
With his mark gone, Samael found himself with little to do. He had nobody to keep tabs on, but he didn’t want to go back to Hell, didn’t want to tell Lucifer he’d lost her. So, he decided to see what it would like to be mortal for a while. But with nothing to do and nowhere to be, he spent most of those days roaming downtown, people-watching.  
And by the devil, humans were dull. Sitting in coffee shops, clicking away on their laptops. Sitting at bars, drinking beer and staring at their phones. Mortals spent a lot of time sitting and staring at screens. Yet here he was, sitting on these stairs—only he was staring off into nothing. The irony made him bark out a short, humorless laugh.  
He hadn’t expected to see her at that coffee shop the other day. He figured Raphael would never let her back down to Earth untrained. And he really hadn’t expected his reaction that afternoon, watching as she cast her eyes over the place, looking for—someone.  
He told himself it was just a bit of fun, to see how much he could unnerve her, to see if he could get under her skin. He didn’t anticipate that she would get under his. That later that night, he’d come here, telling himself he was just doing his job, just doing what Lucifer had told him to. But he wanted to see her and couldn’t deny his disappointment when she didn’t return that night. Or the next.  
Or tonight.  
He was acting like a fool. He should go home and tell Lucifer that Raphael had the Nephilim. Lucifer would be mightily pissed, but at least Samael might get another assignment, something which might take his mind off her.  
Or maybe he should get a drink first. Or five. He learned there was a bar only a few blocks away; he could sit and watch people stare at their phones again, but at least the place had a good whisky selection.  
He could’ve teleported but decided to walk, knowing he was stalling, putting as much time between now and his reckoning as he could. And the walk was pleasant, the air cool, the night sky mostly clear, a few scattered stars winking above him.  
The pub was nautical-themed, with a giant wheel set against the far wall, brass instruments and netting everywhere under the dim lighting. Seth glanced around the mostly-empty place, looking for a seat where he wouldn’t be noticed—he was in no mood for chitchat.  
“Seth?” His head snapped over to the bar. Hope was sitting on one of the high-legged chairs, a glass of whisky in her hand and a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes, reflecting the light some unknown light source, looked even more startlingly green than he remembered, her hair a riot of curls around her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”


	10. Open Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All traces of fatigue evaporated. Hope's heart began to pound and she had to stop herself from fidgeting. God, Seth made her nervous. Or—maybe giddy was a better word. She couldn’t tear her eyes off him, even as he leaned closer, nearly enough to kiss.  
> But not quite.  
> She felt her breathing become ragged, uneven. Matching his. He brushed her lips with his, barely, a butterfly wing against her mouth. Then pulled away. Hope had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from moaning.  
> “Any chance you want to get out of here?” he asked.  
> That was a terrible idea. She was grieving. Emotional. Not in any state to make good choices.  
> She didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope makes a choice. It's probably not a great one.

The drive home wasn’t nearly as the long as the one to that clearing had been, but it was fully dark by the time she parked her car across the street from her building. Then decided she didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to sit up there and drink alone.

Better to drink with a roomful of strangers instead.

It wasn’t logical, but she didn’t care, starting the engine back up and heading for The Pointe, the neighborhood pub. Maybe she could even live up to the stereotype and tell the bartender about her rough day.

It was dead in there, even more so than usual. She was the only one to sit at the bar, ordering a double of their best bourbon—she could always teleport home and pick up her car in the morning.

The bartender dropped off her drink, then scampered into the back; guess there wouldn’t be any heartfelt confessions this time. Hope brought the glass to her lips, taking a large sip just as the doors opened. On reflex, she turned to watch whoever it was come inside—it wouldn’t be anyone she knew. It never was.

But she knew him.

“Seth?” Hope nearly dropped her glass. He looked over when she said his name and smiled. It was a dangerous smile. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer, just sauntered over, taking the seat beside her, pulling the glass from her unresisting fingers. He sipped from the same spot she just had her mouth, then placed it on the counter. “Good choice.” The bartender came back and Seth jerked his head, indicating he wanted the same, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Do you live around here?” Hope asked. Then flushed; God, that sounded like the worst pick-up line. Seth didn’t seem to mind, idly picking up his glass when it arrived. Then he turned his body toward hers as he sipped his drink.

“No.” His voice was husky. He wasn’t any closer than anyone else would be if they sat there, but it felt…intimate. She smelled that same intoxicating cologne as before, but this time with an undercurrent of something else, something more primal.

All traces of fatigue evaporated. Her heart began to pound and she had to stop herself from fidgeting. God, he made her nervous. Or—maybe giddy was a better word. She couldn’t tear her eyes off him, even as he leaned closer, nearly enough to kiss.

But not quite.

She felt her breathing become ragged, uneven. Matching his. He brushed her lips with his, barely, a butterfly wing against her mouth. Then pulled away. Hope had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from moaning.

“Any chance you want to get out of here?” he asked.

That was a _terrible_ idea. She was grieving. Emotional. Not in any state to make good choices.

She didn’t care.

She nodded.

“After you,” he said, drawing back, giving her just enough room to slide off the chair. Hope fumbled in her jacket pocket for her wallet, but Seth was faster, laying a couple of twenties on the bar, more than enough to pay for the drinks, plus a gracious tip. His hand rested lightly against her back as he led her out the door.

The short drive back to her place was intense and silent. Hope could barely keep her attention on the road, his presence far too distracting. She felt her shoulders slump a bit in relief once she was able to park.

Then she remembered the stuff in her trunk. She sighed as she got out of the car, heading to the back. Seth joined her as she opened the hatch.

“Putting me to work already?” he teased. Hope flushed.

“I can leave them—”

“I don’t mind.” He grabbed the box, lifting it effortlessly from the car. “It’s better if I earn it, anyway,” he murmured in her ear. Hope felt her entire body heat as she grabbed the duffle and slung it over her shoulder, following Seth to her front door. They managed to keep their hands to themselves in the elevator, but Hope could feel the tension on the ride up, even thicker than it was in the car.

Once they reached her door, she slid the bag to the ground, fumbling to get the right key as she felt Seth’s hands reach around her. She spun to face him and he pressed her to the door, kissing her with an urgency that left her breathless.

Eventually, Hope broke it off, turning back so she could get them inside. She felt dizzy, almost drunk, even though she’d barely had two sips of her drink at the bar. Seth pressed himself against her back, moving her hair away from her neck to kiss her there. “Stop it, or I’ll never get this door open,” she gasped, dropping the keys on the carpet. He bent to pick them up, gently shouldering her aside.

“We could have just teleported inside you know,” he said, selecting the key and turning it in the lock. He pushed open the door, kicking the box and the bag through it and into the entryway. Then he took off his jacket, tossing it on the bench against the side wall.

“I’m…not the best at that yet.” Hope’s cheeks, already flushed, caught fire. But his statement wasn’t lost on her. He wasn’t entirely human—he’d just confirmed it.

And showed he knew she wasn’t, either.

“Good thing I am.” Seth raised his eyebrows, grabbing Hope’s wrist, leading her inside and kicking the door closed. He pulled her against him, leaning over to brush his lips against her ear. “I’m good at a great many things, you’ll find.” Her breath caught as his teeth grazed her earlobe, then along her jawline to the pulse point at her neck. He sank in his teeth, making her moan as her knees threatened to give way.

Seth laughed, a low chuckle from deep in his chest. “You do make the loveliest noises.” He towed her through the hallway to her living room, then sat back on the couch, settling her on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips. He cupped her face with his hands, covering her mouth with his, running his tongue along her top lip, sending darts of electricity down her spine to the pit of her stomach.

And lower.

Hope pressed herself against him, clutching the back of his shirt in her fists. As they kissed with even more urgency, she could feel his hands move down to her back, then to her waist as he began to hike up her shirt.

Oh God They were actually doing this. She froze. Then pulled away.

Seth’s eyes flew open, his dark blue irises a razor-thin ring around his blown pupils. “Are you okay?” he asked, releasing her. “Do you want to stop?”

“No—” she stammered. Then took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn’t even know how to explain. “No. It’s just that—it’s been a while.”

Seth gave her a lazy smile. “I don’t think much has changed since the last time you did it.”

Hope burst out laughing, her face on fire. “No, I mean, I don’t mean _that_.” She exhaled through her nose. “It’s just…well, I haven’t since I…I’m just not really a casual sex kind of girl.”

“Trust me, nothing about this is casual.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, causing a few strands to stick up. She reached out to smooth them, but hesitated.

“I know.” And she did. Even though this was only the third time she’d seen him—and the second time they’d spoken—she felt drawn to him. She felt like she’d known him for years. It was weird—and more than a little scary. “It’s…I’m scared.” She covered her mouth the moment she said it. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, maybe ever, but the last thing she wanted to do was admit it. Seth’s eyes softened as he gently grasped her wrist, bringing her hand away from her mouth.

“It’s okay.” He kissed the back of her hand, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. “Here. I am putting myself completely in your hands. You call the shots. We’ll only go as far as you want.” He leaned back, his hands stretched beside his head. She nodded, then hesitantly placed her fingers on either side of his face, brushing his lips gently with her own. She could feel him lower his arms, but he kept them away.

“You can still touch me, you know,” she murmured against his mouth, then kissed him again. She darted her tongue to taste his upper lip and he rested his hands against her lower back, his fingers just brushing her skin. She deepened the kiss and Seth flexed his fingers, gripping the hem of her shirt, but he did not pull her closer. He was true to his word.

Feeling bolder at the power she now had, she flicked her tongue against his, moving her hands down to his shoulders and along his arms. They were strong, lightly muscled, but she could feel the tension in them as he resisted the urge to pull her closer. She reached around to his lower back, pulling her mouth away to leave a trail of kisses along his jawline to his neck. She could feel his pulse pounding beneath her lips, fast and erratic, but he slowly unclenched his hands, sliding them back to her waist. She ran her tongue along his pulse point and felt him tense, delighting in the reaction she was causing. She made her way down to his collarbone, then bit down, sucking at the tender flesh of the hollow.

“By the devil,” he muttered, his hands clutching the fabric of her shirt again. Still, he made no move to draw her closer. She pulled back, dropping his gaze as she leaned away from him to pull her shirt over her head. She wished she’d worn a nicer bra than the dark blue one she had on, but it wasn’t like she could do anything about it now. Then she looked up at him though her lashes and realized it didn’t matter. Pure, naked lust gleamed in Seth’s eyes as he took her in. And kept them trained on hers as she methodically unbuttoned his shirt.

“Dear God.” There were abs, and there were _abs_. And his went on. For days.

“What?” He looked down, mild alarm crossing his face.

“Do you spend every waking moment at the gym?”

He smirked, opening his mouth to say something, probably smart-assed, but she surged forward, pressing her skin against his, and whatever he was about to say turned into a groan. He threw his head back, whether in lust or frustration, Hope couldn’t tell.

She didn’t care. She was _enjoying_ this. She ran her hands along Seth’s back under his shirt, digging her nails, then placed her mouth on his collarbone again, teasing along the arch with her tongue until he made this half-strangled sound low in his throat. Then she slowly made her way back up to his neck, then to his mouth. His lips were cool beneath hers, but they warmed quickly enough. Both were gasping, and she could feel the tension in his whole body as he struggled to maintain control.

“Okay,” she breathed, and he needed no further encouragement. His left hand slid up her back, grasping at her bra hooks as his right hand cupped her breast. He tore his mouth from hers, leaving a trail of hot kisses down her neck and shoulder, fastening his mouth over her nipple. She cried out, arching her back against him, while he kissed his way across her chest, his hands pressing into her back, pulling her even closer.

“I can’t—” she gasped. He stopped.

“You can’t…what?”

“I want you. Now.” She reached for the button of his jeans and yanked it open, tugging at his pants as she came up to take them off, sliding them over his hips down to the floor. She stepped back, undoing her own pants, tearing them away from her ankles before settling herself over his thighs again. “Good thing one of us doesn’t believe in underwear,” she said, lifting one brow. Then glanced down. “Also…goddamn.”

“I find it’s always good to be prepared.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer. She could feel him now, pressing against her pelvis and lower belly.

“Speaking of prepared, should we—” she murmured. She thought she had some condoms in her bathroom drawer, but she wasn’t sure they were still good. He chuckled against her lips.

“I’m…immune to mortal diseases,” he muttered, kissing the side of her mouth before moving along her cheek to her jaw. “But if it makes you more comfortable, we can use something.”

Hope shook her head; she wasn’t even sure her legs would hold her up enough to walk to the bathroom at this point. Besides, she had an IUD. Instead, she trailed one hand down to the waistband of her underwear, but Seth grabbed her fingers before she could reach it.

“Not yet,” he breathed against her lips. Hope groaned in frustration.

It _had_ been a long time.

Seth drew back and smiled, sly, teasing. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He slid his hands to cradle her back, then turned them both so he could lay her down along the length of the sofa, pulling up so he was kneeling over her, his eyes raking in every detail of her body. Hope closed her eyes; she couldn’t help it.

Then she felt him shift.

“Open your eyes.”

The words were whispered so close to her face she could feel the air move as he spoke. Her eyes flew open, immediately locking with Seth’s, his pupils huge, glinting with just a touch of deviousness. “Keep them open, or I’ll stop.” He bent and fastened his mouth on her neck, grazing her throat with his teeth. Hope gasped but did what she was told.

Slowly, Seth worked his way down her neck, over her collarbone to her breast, leaving a trail of kisses and bites which made Hope’s skin burn. Every nerve in her body was working overtime, her senses nearly overloaded with sensation. The feel, the smell, the taste of Seth was everywhere as he slowly made his way down her body with his mouth, his hand leading the way. She felt his fingers as they reached the waistband of her underwear, then slip underneath. She bit her lip from crying out as he touched her, arching her back, willing her eyes not to close.

“By the devil, you’re _wet_.” Hope’s laugh caught in her throat as he pressed further into her, coming out as a strangled cry. He slowly stroked his fingers along her, making her shudder. It was too much; she couldn’t take it.

She closed her eyes.

Then felt him stop and shift his hand away, coming back up so he was laying alongside her, the heat of his body pressed against hers. “I told you. Look at me.”

She pried her eyes open, the naked desire in his slamming into her gut. It was overwhelming, the look in them. It was too much. “I…can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He locked his eyes with hers, compelling her gaze as she felt his fingers slide into her again. “You will. I want to see you.” His fingers worked her, rhythmically, back and forth, forcing a gasping breath with every stroke. Her whole body went rigid, pressed against Seth’s but she didn’t break eye contact. Not even when she cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

Just as it began to ebb, she felt him pull her underwear away, then roll them both over so she lay on top of him. He nudged her legs apart to wrap around his hips as she sat up, pulling away just far enough to grasp him and slide the tip inside. She pushed her hips down, achingly slowly, savoring the frustrated noise Seth made as she settled herself over him. He closed his eyes, grasping her hips to make her move faster, but she swept his hands away and leaned forward. “Open your eyes. It’s my turn to watch you.” He obeyed, his expression broken open and pleading. Her lips curled into an evil smile as she held his gaze, moving her hips up and down languorously, drawing it out on purpose, willing him to feel as she felt, the delicious tension building until it was almost unbearable.

“Hope,” he gasped, closing his eyes, his hands digging into her waist. She stopped moving, could feel him twitch uncontrollably within her. “By the angels.” His eyes flew open, glassy and helpless. “Don’t stop.” He pulled her tight against him, all control lost as he cupped her buttocks and slammed her body against his, hard, again and again, until she felt the tension rise again in her own body, her cries cut off as he lifted his head to cover her mouth with his, both of them gasping against each other.

Then Seth tensed, arching his back. Hope cried out as her body went rigid, then spasmed, release cresting over them both.

#

Hope awoke sometime the next morning, her neck stiff from the awkward angle of falling asleep on the couch with someone else.

But she was alone now.

She groaned as she sat up, tilting her head from side to side to loosen it as she stretched. Then glanced at the clock on her PVR—even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t have made it to help set up the reception. She would’ve had to leave long before now. Not that she minded one damn bit.

“Seth?” she called out.

Silence.

Did he leave without waking her up? Hope felt a chunk of ice drop into her stomach. Maybe it _was_ just casual sex for him, despite what he said. Maybe he just did all that to get her into bed. Maybe—

“Hey.” Seth stood in the hall entrance, shirtless, his jeans loose at his hips. His dark hair was mussed, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at her. She reached down, scrambling to find her shirt among the pile of clothing still on the floor. Settled for his, her hands clumsy with the buttons as she did them up. Then she stood, the shirt draping down to her knees as she took a couple of steps toward him. He stepped back, Hope feeling the withdrawal like a slap across the face. “I—I have to tell you something.” He turned and walked through her bedroom onto the balcony. Hope followed, trying not to shiver. It was _cold_ out here.

“I guess I could start by saying I’m no mere mortal, but you already know that.” The side of his full lips crooked up in an attempt at a smile as he ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the deck. “The truth is—” He took a deep breath.

“You’re a demon.” Hope clasped his smooth, broad hand in hers, making him look up, his eyes wary as they searched hers. She tried to make herself look as nonchalant as possible, but apparently it didn’t work because his expression darkened. She took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. “I can’t say it doesn’t matter, because it does. But I don’t care? I mean, it wasn’t real to me until you just said it, but I guess I always kind of knew something was different.” She took another step closer. “The minute I saw you in that club, I knew there was something about you.” She slipped her other arm around his waist, pressing herself against his chest, tilting her head back to meet his gaze, his pupils blown wide.

She raised herself up on her toes as he bent his head to kiss her, gently at first, their lips barely brushing. Then he released her hand, wrapping his arms around her back, pulling her tight against him, teasing her mouth open with his tongue. Hope clung to him, deepening the kiss, grazing her teeth along his top lip. He groaned—a sound more frustrated than wanton—then pulled away.

“Goddamn it,” Seth swore, distress in every plane of his face. Hope released him and stepped back, fighting the sudden rush of hot tears to her eyes. “No, Hope, don’t—” He pulled her close again, tilting her face back up to meet his. “I have to tell you—I need you to know…but you’re just so bloody distracting!” His lips twitched, trying not to smile, and Hope choked out something between a sob and a laugh, drawing back.

“Okay. Tell me.” She tugged the hem of the shirt down over her legs. “I promise I won’t…distract you.”

Seth turned, clutching the balcony rail so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m not a demon. Not exactly.” He took a shaky breath, his whole upper body rising and falling with it. “I’m—an archangel. Of sorts.”

“You’re—what?” The news hit Hope like a taser to the chest, bewilderment flooding her entire body. She thought she had been starting to develop instincts, learning to tell who was demonic, angelic, or mundane.

Clearly, she was wrong.

She ran her hands through her hair, her fingers tangling in the curls. She viciously pulled them through, causing little darts of pain as she tugged the knots free. “I don’t get it. I mean, it kind of explains why I can’t sense you like I can other demons. But,” She stammered, blushing, “there’s not really much _angelic_ about you.”

Seth laughed, but it was without humor. “I don’t live up in Heaven with the others. I fell, joined Lucifer centuries ago.” He leaned forward to press his bare chest against the balcony rail. “I became his lieutenant. His second-in-command. His…left hand, if you will.” He pushed himself off, then turned back to face Hope, but his expression was distant, eyes looking over her shoulder. “He sent me up here to find you. To learn how powerful you were. To see if you could be the one—” he broke off, meeting her gaze. “That night in the club. I did it to draw you in, to lower your defenses. I didn’t count on any of this—” He stepped toward Hope, but she backed away, her stomach dropping somewhere near her ankles.

“You were spying on me?” She felt the blood drain from face; she clutched the rail to keep from falling back on her ass. She’d been tricked. Misled. He made her think he felt something for her.

But he didn’t care about her. He was working for Lucifer, sent here to see if she could be valuable. Could be used as a weapon.

She couldn’t believe she’d been so naive, that she actually fell for it. She was hurt, and humiliated, and _pissed_ with herself for trusting him.

And exposed, she realized, still standing there, half-naked. She ducked back into her room, pulling clothes out of her dresser, yanking them on as quickly she could.

“Hope, I—” Seth began, stepping into her room. He looked miserable.

And guilty.

Even though she _knew_ he’d deceived her, her traitorous body wanted to go to him. But she also wanted to scream at him, to hurt him—he was lucky she didn’t have an angel blade on her right now.

She should probably feel lucky he didn’t draw one on her. But she just felt hollow and horrible and sick to her stomach.

She pointed toward the door, not able to stop her hand from shaking.

“Get. Out.” Seth opened his mouth to protest but took one look at her face and nodded. She threw his shirt at him. He caught it, sliding his arms through the sleeves as he left the room. She followed him, standing stock-still while he gathered the rest of his clothes in the living room, unmoving even as he stared at her, backing down the hall, his eyes pleading, but she knew he was just acting.

Raphael was right. She should never have come down here for the funeral, just not for the reason he thought. As soon as it was over, she was out of here.

For good.

She waited until she heard the click of the front door to fall on her knees, her head in her hands.

How could she have been so _stupid_?

#

Seth waited until he got outside Hope’s building before he swore. Viciously. Loudly. He had _royally_ fucked that up. He shouldn’t have told her about himself or Lucifer. Hell, he should never have gone back to her place with her last night. Or, since he had, he should have just walked out the door this morning before she woke up.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t leave without seeing her again. So, he waited until she awoke, then in a feat of incredible stupidity, decided to confess to her. He thought maybe if he could explain—

She had every right to be pissed, though. He _had_ been spying on her, at least he was until she left with Raphael. And he realized that to her, it would look like he’d taken advantage of her, sleeping with her to get closer, to see if she would be useful to Lucifer.

He was surprised by how much that upset him.

Swearing again, he headed to the street.

It had rained overnight, the sidewalk still damp, the grass sparkling in the dim light that managed to trickle through the grey, overcast sky. Seth stood there for a while, staring at the ground, his fists stuffed into his jacket pockets. He didn’t want to go home yet. Was too edgy, too full of pent-up aggravation. He wanted to punch something. Or someone.

Then he noticed movement across the street.

He recognized the woman standing there. It was one of Hope’s friends from the club that night. The pretty one with the long, dark hair.

She didn’t look so pretty now.

Her hair was matted on one side, face smudged with dirt, clothes filthy and torn. She looked like she’d been in a fight. And lost. Still, she was smiling as she gave him a little wave, wiggling her fingers at him.

Motherfucker.

That wasn’t Hope’s friend. It was wearing her body, but he could see the demon inside. Lucifer must have sent her to spy on Hope’s apartment. He did like to have more than one source. But now the demon had seen him leave her place.

And there was no way she wouldn’t tell Lucifer.

He considered taking the demon out right then and there, but he had no weapon. Instead, he pasted a sardonic smile on his face, waved back at her, and vanished. He returned moments later, an infernal blade in his hand, but the demon was gone.

He needed to find that demon and silence her. Permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello, welcome to the first sex scene I ever wrote. Ever. Please be kind.


	11. That’s Not Lauren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that Lauren?” Chris whispered to Hope’s back. She pointed over Hope’s shoulder at the same tree. “Did you invite her to the funeral?”  
> Hope shook her head.  
> The figure moved again; it was definitely Lauren. Her hair drooped like a dark, soggy curtain on either side of her face, and—was she wearing green hospital scrubs? She hugged the tree trunk with one arm as she leaned from it, waving at Hope and Chris. Once she got their attention, she curled her fingers, beckoning them over with a smile. She looked…wrong.  
> Hope narrowed her eyes.  
> It wasn’t Lauren.  
> “Demon,” Hope whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope has a bad time just after her mother's funeral. Seth is—torn.

Hope stood, staring at her mother’s headstone, the urn with her mother’s ashes beside it. Staring, but not seeing. Her guilt, her grief, and Seth’s betrayal combined into a mental cocktail that left her dazed and overwhelmed.

The funeral ceremony, which took place in the building just behind her, had been short but well-attended. People Hope didn’t even know took to the podium to remember Evelyn Grayson, to tell anecdotes about her. To remember her.

Out here, it poured rain; the brisk tattoo of the drops hitting the nylon of her umbrella lulled Hope into some sort of a trance. Everyone else was long gone, except for Chris, who stood a short distance away, quietly waiting until Hope was ready to leave. Rainwater seeped into her boots while images from the last couple of weeks swirled in her head.

The wind picked up, blowing with enough force to push the rain against her back. It threatened to flip her umbrella inside out, so Hope closed it, feeling water run down her scalp, dripping onto the wool coat at her shoulders. A stray droplet trickled down the nape of her neck before sliding down her back, making her shudder. Then Chris was at her side, giving her a concerned look. She silently handed Hope a tissue and Hope used it to dab at her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

Hope opened her mouth to tell Chris they could go when she caught some movement out the side of her eye. It was slight, so slight she thought she imagined it. She turned to look, squinting through the haze of rain and mist rising from the grass. There it was again. A flash of movement, beside a giant arbutus tree just outside the grounds. Was that—?

“Is that Lauren?” Chris whispered to Hope’s back. She pointed over Hope’s shoulder at the same tree. “Did you invite her to the funeral?”

Hope shook her head.

The figure moved again; it was definitely Lauren. Her hair drooped like a dark, soggy curtain on either side of her face, and—was she wearing green hospital scrubs? She hugged the tree trunk with one arm as she leaned from it, waving at Hope and Chris. Once she got their attention, she curled her fingers, beckoning them over with a smile. She looked…wrong.

Hope narrowed her eyes.

It wasn’t Lauren.

“Demon,” Hope whispered.

“What?” Chris didn’t seem to hear her. “Should we see what she wants?” She stepped around Hope, heading toward Lauren, but Hope clutched her sleeve.

“That’s not Lauren. It’s a demon.” Chris snapped her head back to Hope, astonished, but to Hope’s relief, she stayed still. Hope looked over her shoulder, back to the demon, who hung on the tree as she stretched toward them, continuing to wave, looking more urgent.

“Why doesn’t she just come here?” Chris asked.

Hope wasn’t sure. “Maybe it’s like vampires?” she said without thinking. “And she can’t because it’s hallowed ground? If so, we should be safe as long as we stay here.”

Chris nodded. “Okay.” Then she turned and pointed at another nearby tree. “But what about Seth?”

“What?” Hope whirled her head around, following Chris’s gaze. “What the hell is he doing here?” Was he here to take Hope out? Did he put the demon in Lauren’s body to lure her out of the cemetery so he could take her to Lucifer? And how the hell was she going to keep Chris from being caught in the crossfire?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. Seth emerged from behind the tree and stalked toward the demon, who obviously didn’t see him as she continued to try and lure Hope and Chris over. Just as he drew near, he pulled a knife from a sheath hidden beneath his jacket. It was double-edged, long, and gleamed ruby-red in the gloom.

So Seth wasn’t after Hope. He was after the demon. But why? Weren’t they on the same side? Hope could do nothing but stand and stare in confusion, unsure what to do. Until—

“Lauren! Look out!” Chris broke away from Hope and dashed toward the tree. Hope reached, trying to grab something, anything to hold Chris back but her fists closed on empty air.

“No, Chris!” Hope started to chase after Chris, the demon watching as Chris got closer, the demon’s lips curving into a vicious smile. Then she jerked her eyes to where Chris was pointing as Seth surged forward, dagger raised to eye level. The demon jumped back as he drove the dagger forward, aiming for her chest. Chris halted, clearly stunned by the attack.

But she was still inside the cemetery grounds.

“Chris! Stay there!” Hope shouted, sprinting toward her, her boots sliding on the slippery grass. Seth must’ve missed, because the demon kept her terrible, challenging smile, lunging before he had a chance to lift the dagger again, raking her nails down his face. He staggered back, losing his balance and the demon leaped, knocking Seth to the ground. She locked her thighs around his waist, holding his arms in, the dagger still clutched in his fist. He thrashed, trying to knock her off, but she dug her knees in tighter. Then the demon grabbed for the blade.

“No! Seth!” Hope couldn’t even say why she changed course and headed toward him, her feet threatening to slide out from her with every step. The demon changed tactic, slamming her elbow into Seth’s forearm, causing him to howl and release the dagger. She swiftly snatched it up, sweeping it up in a broad arc, the red glow illuminating her face as she prepared to thrust the blade into Seth’s chest.

Hope plunged her hand into her coat and yanked out her angel blade, the one Raphael made her take. She threw herself forward, her knees skidding in the mud. Then flung the blade, palms slamming into the ground.

Hope’s dagger hit the demon squarely in the chest, the blade cutting through Lauren’s flesh like butter, the angel wings piercing her skin. The demon howled, an inhuman sound of rage and pain, dropping Seth’s knife, the red glow of the blade winking out. All the tension in Lauren’s body relaxed as the demon slumped to the side, Seth rolling them both over.

“Lauren!” Chris screamed, running toward them once more. Hope spun her head toward her just as Seth untangled himself and grabbed his dagger.

“No! Stop her!” He shouted. Hope sprang to her feet with surprising agility just as Chris rushed past. She chased after Chris, not able to catch her before she reached Lauren’s body and collapsed behind her, gathering Lauren’s upper body up onto her lap. Chris curved herself around Lauren’s body as if to protect it, her hair dripping down over the grip and pommel of Hope’s angel blade.

Then Hope realized what she’d done. What she’d had to do.

All the adrenaline coursing through her body evaporated, leaving her felling empty and numb. She collapsed back onto her knees.

“Hope. You have to get up.” Seth was crouched in front of her. She didn’t know how he got there. She didn’t care. He grasped her wrist, dragging her up. “We have to get to Chris before—” she didn’t hear the rest. Hope watched in horror as a dark shape slithered its way out of Lauren’s body. Swirled like smoke, but with more substance, like liquid ink, absorbing what little surrounding light there was. Then floated, suspended in the air, writhing back and forth as though searching for something before slamming into Chris’s body. Hope screamed, lunging forward, but Seth held her back, pressing her body against his to keep her from running to Chris.

But it wasn’t Chris anymore.

The demon flung Lauren’s body to the side and stood, brushing wet grass from her knees with bloody hands, her jacket slick with rainwater and blood, giving Hope an inhumanly taunting grin. Hope thrashed against Seth, but he held her fast, his arms locked around hers. The demon winked, blew Hope a kiss, then darted away. Hope wanted to cry, to scream. She wanted to chase after the demon, to find a way to pull it back out of Chris’s body. Instead, she sagged against Seth, drained.

The rest of the afternoon was a foggy gray blur. Seth said he would take care of Lauren’s body; Hope brain wasn’t working well enough to even wonder what that meant. And he was gone before she realized she would need to get herself home. She was in no state to drive and didn’t feel like she had enough energy to blink, let alone teleport.

In the end, she called Rob and had him drive her car home, Jason and Dan following behind. None of them asked why she was soaked and covered in mud, and she wasn’t about to explain. She was silent the entire ride, watching the rain pound against the passenger side window, droplets streaming along the foggy window like tears.

Somehow, she managed to climb the stairs to the main entrance of her building. She just needed to keep it together until she was home.

Then she could break down.

She staggered through the front door, locking it behind her, collapsing to her knees, her face in her hands, heedless of her dripping hair, of the heaviness of her wet coat, of the cold tile against her bare skin.

She wanted to weep. For her mother. For Lauren. And for Chris.

She curled against her knees, guilt crushing her back like a massive slab of concrete, weighing her down, making it hard to breathe. Her eyes and throat burned, raw and scorching.

But the tears wouldn’t come. She lay like that until she eventually fell into an uneasy, exhausted asleep.

#

Seth stood at the door to Lucifer’s office, willing his hands to stop shaking. He still wore the clothes from the cemetery, filthy with grass stains, mud, and dried blood. Everything was damp from the rain—his clothes, his hair—his fingers and toes still numb. But he didn’t take the time to change.

He knew why he was being summoned.

He had disobeyed a direct order. That demon no doubt told Lucifer about seeing him at Hope’s apartment, and about what happened at the cemetery. He swore softly to himself. Lucifer wouldn’t be angry about his attempt to kill the demon; demons were a dime a dozen. But he would care _why_ Seth attacked it. And about what he’d been doing at Hope’s place. His heart raced, his palms slick with sweat which he absently wiped off on his jeans. There was a hollow feeling in his stomach—it had been a long time since he’d felt fear, and he felt it several times today. It was unfamiliar. And unwelcome.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, reaching for the door.

The second his hand closed around the handle, an image planted itself in his head: Hope, on her knees, head in her hands, screaming as Lucifer plunged an infernal blade into Chris’s chest. Lucifer saying something Seth couldn’t hear. Lucifer's black eyes gleaming with malice as he turned toward Hope, his face twisting in a mocking smile. Hope’s back straightening as she stood, cold fury in every muscle of her body. Hope, turning her head to glower at _Seth_ , her brilliant green eyes narrowing with pure, raw rage.

The vision took his breath away, the wind knocked out of him as if he’d been punched in the gut. Hard. Those eyes—he _knew_ they were familiar.

But now he knew _why_.

The back of his throat _burned_ —by the devil, human emotion was a trial—as his breathing returned, ragged and uneven. He willed himself to calm, to remove any trace of emotion from his face. He could not show Lucifer any weakness, not now.

Seth entered the office, wary, cautious. It was sleek and minimalist, the walls of the large round tower room made from highly polished sheets of obsidian, pressed thin so they looked like tinted windows, a view of the forge directly below. An elegant leather couch curved against the wall to his left. Before him was a dark cherry wood desk, gleaming under tasteful, recessed lighting.

A little girl, maybe about nine years old, perched on the desk facing Seth, swinging her legs back and forth, her sneakered heels sounding like a metronome each time they struck the wood behind her. Her dirty blond hair hung in limp, matted pigtails and Seth could barely tell she was wearing _Frozen_ pajamas because they were caked in dried blood. She smiled widely as she waved him toward the couch.

“Brother.” Seth perched on the edge of the couch, tucking his hands under his legs to stop them from shaking. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes.” The girl pushed off the desk, looked down at her feet and giggled. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse me. A serial killer was executed today; he only just arrived. He got to experience the torture and pain he inflicted on his own victims, and I just _had_ to be there.” She licked her lips as she walked toward Seth. “The screams. Oh, they were delicious.”

She snapped her fingers—she didn’t need to, but Seth supposed she liked the effect—and instantly transformed back into Lucifer’s usual look. Tall, dark, handsome, evil. The one thing that never changed was his night-black eyes.

Which were now trained on Seth with mild curiosity. Edged with irritation.

“I was hoping you would be able to give me a report on your progress,” he said, standing over Seth. He smiled, an icy, sharp smile that made Seth’s heart pound again. “I had a most distressing report from one of my pets. I hoped you might be able to clear things up.”

Damn it. The demon _had_ talked. But Seth didn’t know how much it had said. Not yet, anyway. Best to be cautious, to be careful with what _he_ said. He took a deep breath, meeting Lucifer’s eyes. “Brother. I was watching the Nephilim as you had ordered, when I saw the demon wearing her friend’s body. If only you had told me you were sending it—”

“I wasn’t aware I had to consult you about my plans, Samael.”

“No, of course not, but once I found it, I offered my assistance.” He frowned, averting his eyes. “But then the Nephilim spotted me, and I had to appear to help her so I wouldn’t blow my cover,” he lied, pasting an ingratiating smile on his face. “As it was, you came out the better for it. One friend is dead, and the other—her best friend—is now yours.”

Lucifer paused, considering. “I had intended on using my pet to taunt her, to distract her. Maybe even to keep her from her training so she could try to _save_ it,” he sneered. “But perhaps I can persuade her to consider changing sides. Mortals are so attached to their friends, aren’t they? Yes, _Chris_ could be quite a valuable bargaining chip.” Lucifer slowly paced back to his desk. “Still, my orders were to monitor the girl, not to become her boyfriend.”

He wagged his finger at Seth as he leaned against the dark red-brown wood. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did, Samael. You were seen outside the Nephilim’s apartment last night. Apparently, you two were…cozy.” Seth inwardly cursed, vowing to end that demon the first chance he had—hopefully after he could get it out of Chris’s body.

But Lucifer didn’t appear angry about how things turned out. Yet. Seth planted a bland look on his face, leaning back, one arm resting on the back of the couch.

“Brother, you know how mortals are about sex. I tried to be unobtrusive, but—” he shrugged, smirking. “I could see her attraction, so I made a tactical decision to take advantage of it. I could gain her trust, get access to her home, maybe find something. If not, I could use that trust to destroy her. Or just kill her outright.” He had a flash, an image of Hope lying on her floor, covered in blood, an infernal blade buried in her chest.

He didn’t like it.

“And? Have you any information for me, gleaned through this intimate knowledge?” Lucifer leaned further back, elbows braced against the desk, ankles crossed.

“Well, I can tell you she seems to know nothing about her possible role in the prophesy. In fact, I’m not sure she knows about the prophesy at all. As far as I can tell, she believes she’s just an ordinary Nephilim, training to help fight demons.” Seth let his lips lift. That was true, at least. And probably nothing Lucifer didn’t already know.

“So, she has no knowledge of her lineage? Of who sired her? Of whose blood flows through her veins?” It _was_ true, then. Seth continued to smile, his mind racing.

“With her mother dead, she probably never will. Not on her own, anyway,” Seth said slowly, wondering if anyone else knew. If Raphael knew.

“That is interesting.” Lucifer smiled. “Yes, I’m sure we can use the Nephilim’s friend to lure her into a meeting. Perhaps, once she learns about the darkness that runs through her, she can be enticed to join us. Oh, the things I could do with _her_.” Lucifer bit his lip as he stood, his black eyes gleaming. Seth returned the smile although he really wanted to slump over with relief.

He was spared.

For now.

“Continue your _relationship_ with the girl,” Lucifer ordered. “Build her trust. I will send for you when I need you again.” Seth nodded as he stood, his legs feeling about as solid as gelatin, but he managed to walk to the door steadily enough. As he reached for the handle, Lucifer spoke again, this time at Seth’s back.

“Samael.” Seth turned to meet Lucifer’s eyes, cruelty in every angle of his smooth face. “You still disobeyed a direct order. You must take your punishment.”

Seth spun around, steeling himself. He straightened his spine, focusing his eyes on the desk just over Lucifer’s shoulder, but he still wasn’t braced well enough when Lucifer struck him across the face, the sound like a gunshot. The impact made him lose his balance and topple to the floor. His head rang as he slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees. And his cheek burned, would likely bruise unless he healed it. He resisted the urge to rub it as he stood to face Lucifer, his gaze steadier than he felt.

“Thank you, brother,” Seth said. Then he spun, just managing to keep a straight back as he stalked out the door.


	12. You Have Some Explaining to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I—” her throat was dry. She cleared it, then tried again. “I feel like I should thank you. For trying, at least.” She still wasn’t sure what to make of yesterday, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Seth wasn’t there to hurt her. That he was there to help. And when she looked up at him—  
> His eyes blazed as he came closer, causing a jolt of white-hot heat to pool in her belly. She knew that she was playing with fire, knew that she was going to be burned. Badly. But damn if it wouldn’t feel good before the conflagration.   
> She stepped into him, their bodies just touching, heat radiating from his.  
>  “I would say I’m just doing my part—rescuing damsels—but you were hardly in distress.” He scratched his nails up her spine under her shirt and Hope shuddered at the jolt of electricity he left in his wake, bringing her face within kissing distance of his. “I probably should be thanking you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips. She turned her head, burying her face in his neck. He still smelled faintly of wet grass and fallen leaves, and—coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope gets some answers. But not nearly enough. Gideon fucks up. Royally.

“Hope. Are you all right?”

The voice was familiar.

Hope’s head pounded, her eyes cemented shut. Whatever surface she was lying on was freezing. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was dry, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. With an effort, she cracked one eye open.

Raphael.

And he looked more concerned than she’d ever seen him. She sat up, blinking the other eye open. Once she realized she was in the entranceway of her apartment, the memory of what happened after the funeral slammed into her like a punch to the solar plexus.

Lauren. And Chris. Oh, God. _Chris_.

Raphael thrust a glass of water at her, which she gulped down in seconds. She placed the empty glass beside her, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her skin was rough, covered with scratches. “Are you injured?” Raphael asked, and Hope had a wild, mad urge to laugh.

Everything hurt.

The muscles in her arms ached. Her knees were tender, the skin raw from skidding on the grass, the black tights she’d worn torn from mid-thigh to shin on each leg. The pounding in her head subsided to a low roar but it was difficult to think. And Raphael must have sensed something because he gently placed a slender hand to her skin, just under the collar of her sweater, and healed her.

It was weird to be on the receiving end, to feel the warmth against her skin, to see the glow of that bright light just under her chin. And it was like she could feel the inflammation leaving her joints, the skin mending itself. Her head cleared, the pain ebbing. Raphael released her; she struggled to stand on her own but ended up taking the hand Raphael offered, letting him tow her into the kitchen, empty glass in hand.

“Coffee.” Hope pulled the pot from the coffeemaker, filled it with water, and dumped it into the machine. She reached for a filter—why did the damn things always stick together—shoving it in the basket. Then she opened the cupboard. And sagged against the counter. “Goddamn.”

“You are still out of coffee,” said Raphael. Hope slowly nodded her head, not lifting it from the counter. Even with the healing, she was exhausted; not having coffee felt like a giant cosmic middle finger. “I will return with some.” The shift in the air told her he’d teleported. Hopefully to The Roasters.

She didn’t want to move, but the nagging voice in her head told her she should change her clothes; her coat felt like dead weight on her shoulders. With a reluctant sigh, she kicked off her shoes, peeling off what was left of the tights and tossing them in the trash. Then she headed to her room, letting the coat fall to the hallway floor as she went.

She rifled through her duffel bag, extracting a pair of jeans, socks, underwear, and a clean tank top from the jumble of fabric inside. There was one lone hoodie in her closet and it was too thick and didn’t feel right but it would do. Hopefully. Feeling slightly more human, she groped around her bedside table for a hair tie and wrestled her tangled curls into a ponytail. She needed a shower. Badly. Maybe _after_ coffee.

Hope headed to the living room to wait for Raphael when she heard a knock on the door.

Was that Raphael? No, he could just teleport back. A demon? They probably wouldn’t bother to knock. And anyone else would have to buzz in.

With a groan Hope headed to the door, stopping to grab the angel blade from the inside pocket of her coat. Only it wasn’t there—the leather hilt was empty. Because the last time Hope saw it, the blade had been buried in Lauren’s body.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

Hope tossed the empty scabbard on top of her coat.

Guess she would have to make do with a kitchen knife. She grabbed the biggest one she had on her way to the front door. Looked through the peephole, then, with a sigh of relief—edged with suspicion—she opened the door.

“What are you doing here?”

Seth looked _rough_. He still wore the same clothes as yesterday, his hair limp and hanging in his face. He also had a livid purple bruise on his right cheek, which she knew he didn’t have when he left her to take care of Lauren’s body.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right and got back safe.” He slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out her angel blade, cleaned, holding it out to her, hilt first. “And to give you this.”

“Thanks.” She grabbed it with her free hand, letting it drop to her side.

“Are you going to let me in?” Seth lifted a brow as he smirked at her. “Or are you going to make me grovel at your feet?”

Hope rolled her eyes. “That depends on your answer about why you were at the funeral yesterday.”

Seth blew out a huge breath, all traces of humor vanishing from his face. “We should definitely not talk about that out here.”

“Fine.” Hope stepped aside to let him in, making sure he saw the kitchen knife clutched in her hand as he staggered inside, his gait stiff. She was surprised; she assumed angels didn’t get injured, or at least they would heal much faster than mere mortals. Although she wasn’t a mere mortal either, was she? She shook her head as she closed the door behind him, striding past him to the kitchen, assuming Seth would follow. As she passed her coat, she reached down and looped the scabbard onto her pinky finger. Once she slid the kitchen knife back into its place on the block, she sheathed the angel blade and tossed both back near her coat.

“What’s with the kitchen knife? Were you actually cooking something or—” She could practically hear Seth smirk behind her. “Guess I should be glad you looked before opening the door. I might’ve lost a few important body parts.” Hope turned to face him, his eyes darkening, his smile fading. He ran a hand down his face, looking like he was struggling with something. “Hope, I need to tell you—”

“How did you know Lauren would be there?” She blurted out. His head snapped up, locking eyes with hers. He clearly wasn’t expecting that question. Still, he didn’t avert his gaze while he spoke.

“I saw her outside your apartment and tracked her to the cemetery. And then things got…out of hand.” He gave her a weak smile as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Ha, yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” She dropped her eyes, remembering how she felt in that moment, the demon on top of Seth, the red blade in her hands, poised to drive it into his chest. The blind panic that had caused Hope to act without thinking, to stop seeing her friend Lauren anymore, instead seeing a demon who needed to be stopped. But was it her Nephilim instincts kicking in? Or did she care more about Seth than she wanted to admit? She shook her head.

“I—” her throat was dry. She cleared it, then tried again. “I feel like I should thank you. For trying, at least.” She still wasn’t sure what to make of yesterday, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Seth wasn’t there to hurt her. That he was there to help. And when she looked up at him—

His eyes blazed as he came closer, causing a jolt of white-hot heat to pool in her belly. She knew that she was playing with fire, knew that she was going to be burned. Badly. But damn if it wouldn’t feel good before the conflagration.

She stepped into him, their bodies just touching, heat radiating from his.

“I would say I’m just doing my part—rescuing damsels—but you were hardly in distress.” He scratched his nails up her spine under her shirt and Hope shuddered at the jolt of electricity he left in his wake, bringing her face within kissing distance of his. “I probably should be thanking you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips. She turned her head, burying her face in his neck. He still smelled faintly of wet grass and fallen leaves, and—coffee.

“Oh my God.” Hope pulled back, eyes flying open. She pushed Seth away and whirled to see Raphael standing there, large paper cup in his hand, gawking at the two of them. He looked completely dumbstruck. Hope had to restrain her urge to laugh at his expression, even as she felt her face burn. She lunged forward, snatching the cup from Raphael’s unresisting hand, taking a large sip of coffee to cover her flaming face. It was too hot; she burnt her tongue and struggled to swallow it.

“Raphael.” Seth didn’t look embarrassed at all as he leaned against the counter, a lazy smile on his face, lazily tucking his hand back into his filthy jean pockets.

“Samael.”

Hope jerked her head up. Samael? His name was _Samael_? Then why the hell did he tell her it was Seth? “I was not expecting to see you so soon. Or here, for that matter.”

“I do turn up in the most unexpected places, don’t I?” Seth drawled, his expression unreadable. Then he cocked his head as his eyes slid over to meet Hope’s. “I see my darling brother didn’t mention me. Or that we’re working together.” Hope looked over at Raphael, but he was giving Seth a clear I’m-going-to-kill-you look.

“Working together?” And they were _brothers_?

“Oh, yes. Didn’t Raph tell you I’m the one who’s been feeding him information about Lucifer?” Hope shook her head; it was her turn to be dumbstruck. So Seth—Samael—was a spy, but for Raphael? What about Lucifer? Was he some sort of double agent? Hope could feel her headache returning.

“I did not tell her because it would have been no concern of hers unless you knew each other. Clearly you know each other better than I thought. Although I would guess you failed to inform her you were also providing information to Lucifer about her?”

“No, he managed to tell me about that,” Hope replied weakly.

“She knows,” Seth replied, as if Hope hadn’t spoken. “But I wasn’t feeding him anything he didn’t already know.” He glared at Raphael. “And I stopped giving him anything at all the moment I—” he cut himself off, lowering his eyes.

“The moment you what, exactly?” Raphael’s voice was clipped and commanding. And ice-cold. “You cannot possibly stand here and tell me—”

“Enough.” Seth stood, all smugness gone. “I’m not getting into this now. Especially not with you, Raph.” He looked over at Hope as if he had forgotten she was there. “We do need to talk. But not now. Not here. Call me when you’re alone.”

“Wait. How do I call you? Can you give me your number?” she asked.

Seth backed out of the kitchen, a sly smile spreading across his face. “No phone. But you know how to whistle, don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.” He vanished.

Hope stared for a moment, then glanced down. She’d forgotten about the cup of coffee in her hand. She took a sip, then grimaced, now she was paying attention. It was black. She put the cup down, turning to face Raphael, hands on her hips.

“ _You_ have some explaining to do.”

#

“Let me get this straight.” Hope sat on her couch, hands wrapped around a stainless-steel mug. She still had a vicious headache but hoped the coffee—with milk and sugar now—would help. She took a sip, looking over at Raphael. He was, as usual, perched on the edge of the couch like he was afraid it would bite him. “Seth—Samael—has been giving you information about Lucifer?”

Raphael nodded. “He is the one who warned us about him. You recall when I told you Lucifer was planning an attack—”

“I remember.” She wasn’t about to forget that conversation anytime soon. She finished her coffee and set the cup down on the coffee table. “Why was Samael spying for you, though?”

“We struck a bargain: he provides me with intelligence about Lucifer, and I convince Michael to let him return to Heaven.”

Hope frowned. “Why does he want to go back to Heaven?” Raphael glanced at her, then shrugged.

“His reasons are his alone. You, perhaps, might be in a better position to ascertain them.” One corner of his mouth twitched.

Hope blushed, averting her eyes. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered. What _she_ wanted to know was what Seth had been telling Lucifer about her. But she knew Raphael couldn’t answer that. Instead, she squared her shoulders, staring at a spot just over his head. “I guess I should tell you what happened yesterday then. Lauren, one of my friends, showed up after the funeral. Only it wasn’t Lauren—not really. She was a demon. Then Samael showed up—he said he tracked her there—and she attacked him. I had to—I killed her.” Hope’s voice broke. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, fighting the sting of hot tears. “The angel blade went clean through her. To the hilt. But it didn’t kill the demon. It left her body, becoming—what’s the word?”

“Non-corporeal.”

“Yeah. That. And then it went…it went into Chris. Then she—it—just took off.” Hope’s vision wavered, blurry through a film of unshed tears. She blinked, letting them run down her cheeks, swiping at them with her sleeves. “Why didn’t the angel blade kill the demon? How was it able to get into Chris?”

“I do not know. An angel blade can destroy anything; it should certainly work against a lesser demon.” Raphael gave Hope a sympathetic look. “I realize there was much happening at the time, but do you recall when you pulled the blade from the scabbard? Did it glow?”

Hope thought back, trying to sift through the haze of all that happened, trying to remember if she saw the blade glow in her hands.

No. Fuck, no.

She dashed into the hallway, snatching the dagger up, unsheathing it as she came back into the living room, dread curling in her gut. She remembered when she first held an angel blade, when it had shone a brilliant, glowing white. This one just gleamed dully, reflecting the light coming in from the balcony window. She recalled when Seth handed it to her earlier, and yesterday, just before she threw it.

“No,” she said, realization creeping up her spine, cold and sharp. She looked over at Raphael and could see the same anxious expression on his face. “This isn’t a real angel blade. You got it from the training room yourself?”

Raphael closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Just as I stepped off the elevator, Gideon met me. He said he was heading there anyway; he offered to fetch it for me.” He ran his hand across his face, his jaw clenched, making his high cheekbones even more prominent.

He stood, his expression strange, even more unreadable than usual. “I must speak with Gideon. Now.”

“Wait!” Hope sprang up, flinging the knife aside as she bolted from the couch, grabbing his wrist to keep him from teleporting. “Is there any way to get Chris back? To get the demon out of her? I mean, without killing her.” Raphael didn’t answer. Instead, he looked down where her hand circled his wrist, then back at her, his confusion replaced with horror. It took a moment for Hope to realize why.

“Oh, God.” She dropped his hand, twisting around, snatching her clothes away from her hip, yanking the waistband of her pants down. Nothing.

The mark was gone.

“How—?” Her head was screaming now. This was too much. There was too much happening. She couldn’t make sense of it all. She wracked her brain, trying to recollect the last time Raphael touched her bare skin. It was—when he told her that her mother had died. He’d taken her hands in his. She lifted her face, meeting his wide-eyed gaze, knowing he was remembering the same thing.

“I do not know how. Or why.” His face was tight, mouth set in a determined line. “But I will find out. Call me when you are back at the Hall.” He vanished.

Hope sank down on the couch where Raphael had just been, trying to ignore her throbbing temples so she could recall the last time she had seen the mark, the last time anyone had been affected by it.

Gideon had grasped her hands that same night, up on the roof of the Hall of Healing. But he was Nephilim; the sigil wouldn’t work on him. Or would it? It had definitely worked on Seth; she remembered the jolt they both got the first time he touched her at the coffee shop. But the whole night, when they…well, there certainly was plenty of electricity, but not of the mystical sort. Hope snorted as she stood, pacing aimlessly around her apartment. Something happened between that day at the coffee shop and the other night. What?

The realization made her stop dead and lean against the wall, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

Of course. Her mother.

She must have been the one to place the sigil on her in the first place. It would have vanished once she died. Hope needed to tell Raphael. Needed to find out what it meant. If she was in even more danger now.

But first she needed to talk to Seth.

#

Raphael stood just inside the door of the training room, scanning the scattered dummies. He watched as Gideon sprinted toward one, driving a practice dagger through its chest before vaulting over its shoulder, landing lightly on his feet as he sprang toward another one. He then dropped to his knees, flinging a throwing knife in his left hand. Raphael followed it with his eyes as it sailed in a smooth arc across the length of the room before impaling the dummy placed there.

Gideon rose to retrieve the knives, a satisfied smile on his face which faded the moment he noticed Raphael.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you. I was just practicing.” He reached a chair in the middle of the room, snatching up a bottle of water and towel sitting on it. Unscrewing the cap, he took several swallows of water, but he drank too fast and began to choke. He dropped the bottle, spilling a stream of water onto the floor as he leaned forward, coughing. His face and neck were already damp and slick with sweat, his hair clinging to the nape of his neck; his face reddened as he struggled to breathe.

Raphael approached him, but Gideon, recovering, held out a hand. “I’m…okay.” He cleared his throat, his face returning to normal. “I’m okay.” He wrapped the towel around his neck, sinking into the chair, leaning over to set the bottle upright. Then looked up at Raphael, narrowing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.” Raphael strode over until he was towering over Gideon. “When I asked you to bring me a knife to send with Hope. What kind did you bring me?”

“I brought you an angel blade. Just as you asked.” Gideon’s eyes were wide with surprise at the question but appeared guileless. He frowned as he swiped the towel across his forehead. “Why? Did something happen?” Raphael did not answer but turned and stalked to the weapons cabinet, Gideon on his heels. He threw open the doors, apprehension curling at the base of his spine.

There were six mounts on the left door, five of them holding spare angel blades—it appeared as though Gideon had given him the correct blade. Then how—he whipped his head around to the other door, where the identical practice blades were kept.

One of those was also missing.

“You are certain you did not give me a practice blade? Did you check it first?” Raphael asked.

Gideon shook his head. “No. You seemed to be in a hurry. I did pull it from here though—” he placed his hand on the empty mount on the left. Then let it slide down, realization dawning in his face. “Oh no. I’m so sorry—I should have checked. Is Hope—” Gideon fell forward, clutching the door so tightly his knuckles whitened as he turned his head, meeting Raphael’s thunderous look. His eyes widened before he dropped his head. In shame, or in guilt? Raphael hated the inkling of mistrust creeping into his mind, especially for Gideon, of all his Nephilim…but it was unlike him, to be so utterly careless.

“She is unharmed. But I cannot say the same for her friend.” Raphael’s face grew hard. He knew that he was being too harsh, that he was not giving Gideon the benefit of the doubt. But he could not let his feelings cloud his judgment. Could not let them make him soft. “She was possessed because of your carelessness, intentional or not. You helped bring this about. You will help to remedy it.”

Gideon nodded once, still not meeting Raphael’s eyes.

Raphael had an impulse to reach out, to reassure him, but he could not dismiss the seed of suspicion which had been planted in his head. Instead, he clenched his fingers into fists at his side, marching out of the room without another word.

#

“Seth.” Hope felt stupid saying his name out loud, alone, in her living room, but she didn’t know what else to do. It worked when she was calling Raphael—

Nothing.

She slumped where she stood, then took a deep breath, exhaling loudly through her nose. She was beyond coffee; it was alcohol’s turn. She headed to the cabinet, pouring a more than generous shot of bourbon into her glass, taking a healthy swig. It burned going down, leaving a trail of heat along her esophagus, ending with a welcome fire in her belly. She took another small sip for courage, then tried again.

“Seth.”

Still nothing.

“Uh, Samael?” That worked. He appeared right in front her, nearly making her drop her glass. And he’d just showered, his still-damp hair hanging in a long sweep across his eyes, curling slightly at his neck.

“You rang?” His eyes glinted as one side of his full lips quirked into a smile, holding her gaze as he moved closer. She had to lean against the cabinet as she felt her insides turn to melted wax. Once he could reach, he pulled the glass from her hand, taking a deep breath of the amber liquid inside. “I’m glad you didn’t spill this. It’s definitely too good to waste.”

He set the glass down, his hands sliding across her shoulders to pull her in closer. He brushed her hair back—still damp from her shower—as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. “By the devil, you smell good.” His breath caressed her skin while his lips skimmed over her collarbone. Hope shivered and closed her eyes. Immediately, unbidden, the image of her blade slicing through Lauren’s chest flashed in her mind, turning her blood to ice. She stiffened, pushing Seth away from her.

“I didn’t call you here for that,” she snapped, instantly regretting how harsh she sounded. A flash of hurt passed across Seth’s face—almost too quick for Hope to see it—just as quickly replaced with indifference. He released her, grabbing her glass as he crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch, downing the contents in one shot.

“Well, what did you call me for, then?” His customary smirk was back, his eyes darkening. Hope sighed, running a hand through her hair, the curls beginning to tangle into each other as they dried.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“What do you want?” He sounded gentler, even if his expression didn’t change. Pulling another glass out of the cabinet, she poured a healthy dose of whisky before bringing the bottle to Seth, silently refilling his glass. Then set the bottle on the coffee table, perching on the opposite end of the couch.

“It’s Chris,” she said, staring at the glass between her hands, eyes unfocused. “I need to know if there’s a way to…fix her.

“Remove the demon, you mean.” Hope nodded, feeling the sofa shift as Seth moved from the arm to sit properly. She turned to face him, but she couldn’t read his expression as he set his glass down on the table beside the bottle. “It can be done. But first I’ll need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“You have to let her convince you to meet Lucifer.” Hope barely noticed the glass slide from her nerveless hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud, contents spilling in a thin stream of amber liquid over her beige carpet.


	13. At Your Service, Milady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do angels bleed?” she asked, her mouth still at his neck.  
> “Do—what?” He was so drugged with lust he could barely force the words out.  
> “Do angels bleed?” she repeated. “I mean, they’re immortal, right? You’re immortal?” She reached up, tracing his artery down his neck with her fingernail. It was maddening; how was he supposed to concentrate on what she was saying when she did that? “Why do you have a pulse?”  
> Seth groaned in frustration, throwing his head back. “You want to discuss celestial physiology? Now?”  
> “Yes.” Her warm breath against his neck threatened to drive all rational thought from his brain. But she sounded serious, like she really wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope and Seth work some stuff out and Gideon turns out to be a pretty good shoulder to cry on.

Seth lunged forward, snatching the glass from the carpet, setting it back on the table. Then headed to the kitchen, looking for something to clean up the spilled alcohol. He returned to the living room tea towel in hand, kneeling in front of Hope, pressing the towel to the carpet. He glanced up at her, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her, unblinking. He knew his request would throw her. But this, her reaction—he didn’t like it.

He stood on his knees, dropping the towel, taking Hope’s unresisting hands in his. They were ice-cold. He squeezed them, trying to return some circulation. “Please say something,” he said softly. “Say yes, say no, tell me to go back to Hell where I belong.” A hint of a smile. “But say something.” He shifted so he was facing Hope, blocking her unfocused gaze, forcing her to look at him. She blinked a couple of times, coming back to herself.

“I have…questions.” He was stunned for a moment. Then he laughed out loud. She smiled, tentatively. He released her hands, rising so he could slide onto the sofa beside her. She followed his movement, then held his eyes for a long time, like she was trying to see into his very soul.

Too bad he didn’t have one.

“Ask away,” he replied, his voice going low and husky. Hope glanced down at his mouth. Bit down on her lip. Hard. Then tore her face away, shifting until her back pressed against the arm of the couch, taking a shuddering breath.

“Okay. Why do you want me to meet with Lucifer?” He could hear the waver in her voice, despite her effort to appear calm.

“I don’t,” he replied flatly. And meant it.

“What? But you said—”

“I want you to convince the demon you would.” His face went hard, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t want you going anywhere near him.”

“But how—”

“Text her. Pretend you want to bargain to get Chris back. The demon will want you to agree to meet with Lucifer—”

“Wait? How do you know that?”

“Because I was there when he decided to use her as a trap,” he replied, leaving out the part where he put the idea in Lucifer’s head. “To get to you. He wants to convince you to switch teams, to join him.”

“I would never do that!” Hope cried.

“I know. But he doesn’t. Hope, I—” he broke off, gripping his forehead which was starting to throb. “I was only supposed to watch you. None of this—” he flung his arm out “—was supposed to happen.” He met her gaze again. That part was true. The problem was that he regretted none of it. Well, except maybe the part when he’d decided to confess. That could’ve gone better.

“He knows we slept together. He thinks I did it to weaken you, to make you more vulnerable.” He laughed, but it was short, without humor. “It turns out I was the one disarmed. If he finds out how I—” He cut himself off. Then sighed, shoving his hands through his hair. “If you don’t agree to meet with her, he might suspect I warned you.”

“You’re afraid of what he would do to you, if he knew you double-crossed him.” That was part of it. If Lucifer learned he’d been feeding Raphael information, he’d flay the skin from Seth’s body. If he was in a good mood.

But that wasn’t what he was _really_ afraid of. Not anymore.

“I don’t give a good goddamn what he does to me,” he growled, clutching Hope’s upper arms. “It’s what he might do to you. To punish me.” Hope’s eyes widened and an unwelcome image of Lucifer whipping Hope popped into Seth’s head. He slammed his eyes shut to erase it, reeling at the revulsion and rage that followed in its wake.

“You’d care if he hurt me,” she whispered.

“Jesus Christ, Hope, of course I care!” He blurted without thought, his fingers digging into her arms. She flinched and he relaxed his hands, sliding them up to her shoulders, over her collarbones, his fingers tangling in her still-damp hair. He searched her face, hoping it would give him the answers, would show him what to do, what to say next.

It didn’t; of course it didn’t.

He forced himself to relax, averting his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I’ve been alive for a long time. Centuries. I spent most of the time trying to not feel anything. Working with Lucifer made it easier than you might think.” He gave her a hint of a smile. “But then that night when I first saw you. I felt…something. A connection. I didn’t like it.” That much was true.

Hope laughed softly. “So, it wasn’t just me.”

“No, it wasn’t just you.” He untangled his fingers from her hair, sliding them down to dig into her shoulder blades, pulling her closer. The scent of her enveloped him, making it hard for him to concentrate. “At the coffee shop. I wanted to unnerve you. To put you off your guard. It…backfired.”

“No, I think you did a pretty good job,” she murmured, planting her hands flat on his chest before she ran them up to lace her fingers behind his neck, brushing them through his hair, leaning in even closer. Her mouth was nearly on his, her sweet, bourbon-laced breath ghosting over his face. “I was definitely…unnerved.”

He should push her away, should help her figure out how to get her friend back. Hell, if he was being honest with himself, he should make her stay as far away from him as possible. If Lucifer found out he wasn’t acting anymore—

But he couldn’t do it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured against her lips. giving in. He was damning them both. He didn’t care.

“I didn’t want to watch you from a distance.” He moved infinitesimally closer. “I wanted—needed—to get closer. I wanted—you.” He closed the distance, crushing his mouth against hers, bruising her with the pressure of it. She gasped; he felt it against his mouth, his body reacting ferociously. He slid his tongue over her upper lip—she tasted like honey-laced whisky.

She clutched at his collar when he slid his hand around to cup her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. And normally small breasts weren’t his thing but she was just _so_ sensitive—

Her breath hitched against his mouth and she bit his lip as she slid her hands down his sides to tug his shirt up, pressing her palms against his bare skin.

Every touch was electric. She broke off the kiss, trailing her mouth along his jawline, his fingers curling convulsively against her back. She took her time, digging her nails into his spine. His heart was pounding so hard she must be able to feel it, and breathing was fast becoming an issue. He was losing his damn mind, drowning in the feel of her, in the way she was touching him and kissing him and—

She stopped.

“Do angels bleed?” she asked, her mouth still at his neck.

“Do—what?” He was so drugged with lust he could barely force the words out.

“Do angels bleed?” she repeated. “I mean, they’re immortal, right? You’re immortal?” She reached up, tracing his artery down his neck with her fingernail. It was _maddening_ ; how was he supposed to concentrate on what she was saying when she did that? “Why do you have a pulse?”

Seth groaned in frustration, throwing his head back. “You want to discuss celestial physiology? Now?”

“Yes.” Her warm breath against his neck threatened to drive all rational thought from his brain. But she sounded serious, like she really wanted to know.

“Fine.” He drew her back, her pupils dilated but her eyes clear.

Not too serious, then. She knew exactly how she was affecting him. She was enjoying it.

Still, he could indulge her curiosity. For now.

“Raphael. Lucifer. The other archangels. They’re my half-siblings. We share the same father. The same heavenly father. But unlike them, I have…a mortal mother.”

“So, like Jesus?”

“No.” His reply was automatic. And more like a snarl. “Nothing like him,” he said more gently, then gave her a wry smile. It wasn’t her fault that Uriel had liked to call him that when he’d been feeling particularly douchey. “I’m no messiah.”

“That’s for sure.” Seth wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted. He decided to pick the former. Hope frowned, angling her head as if trying to figure him out. “So…you’re Nephilim, then? Like me?”

“Not _exactly_ like you.” Seth leaned back, reaching for the glass of bourbon, ignored until now. He swallowed all of it, then poured some more, offering the glass to her. “You were sired by—” he stopped himself. “Likely by an angel, maybe even an archangel. Not by God himself.”

That was close. That was not his secret to tell. Not now, anyway.

Hope flicked her eyes to his as she brought the glass to her lips. He bit the inside of his. Hard enough to taste blood. “So, you’re basically a leveled-up Nephilim, then.”

Seth laughed. “I guess you could put it that way. I have mortal qualities. I breathe. I do, in fact, bleed. I don’t _have_ to eat or drink to survive, but I feel a lot better when I do.” He let his eyes linger over her face before settling back on her kiss-swollen mouth. Then gave her a wicked grin. “And I think we already established that I’m anatomically correct.”

Hope burst out laughing and Seth reached for her glass so she wouldn’t spill again. He set it on the coffee table, pulling her roughly onto his lap.

“Unlike regular Nephilim—” he brushed her hair from her collar, “—unlike you, I _am_ immortal.” He replaced his fingers with his lips, trailing his hand down to cup her breast. Hope’s breath caught as she arched her back into his touch. “I was created…after my half-brothers and sisters.” He brushed his lips, ever so gently, against her throat. “I am more vulnerable than they are, but barring a murder,” he paused to sink his teeth into her skin, making her moan. “Or an unhappy accident, I’ll live forever.”

“So, how old are you then?” How the devil did she still have the sense to ask questions?

He would have to fix that.

He blazed a trail of kisses up her throat, along her jawline to her mouth, crushing it against his own with a bruising urgency that left her gasping.

Better.

“Nine hundred and eighty-six,” he murmured against her lips. “I hope you don’t think I’m robbing the cradle.” She started to laugh, but he cut her off again with a searing kiss.

She didn’t ask any more questions.

They both snatched at each other’s shirts, tearing them free with the need to get closer. Cradling Hope’s body, Seth stood them both just long enough to tug the rest of their clothes off, his breathing now harsh and ragged. He pulled her over to the wall, pinning her to it with his body, wrapping her legs around his hips. His fingers explored downward, stroking her until she whimpered.

“Say my name,” he rasped, nearly out of his mind. By the devil, she looked gorgeous like this.

“Seth,” she breathed, her body arched, taut as a bowstring.

“No.” He slipped two fingers into her, making her cry out this time.

“Samael.” It sounded like a prayer, or an entreaty. Like she was asking for mercy.

She wasn’t going to get any.

He positioned himself against her, hands splayed on her hips, using the wall to help hold her in place.

“Again.”

“ _Samael_.” He slid into her as she spoke, fingers still caressing as he thrust into her, then slowly withdrew. She gasped his name over and over, in rhythm with his stokes, until he felt her convulse against him. Then he lost all control, his own climax thundering through him.

After, he kissed her shoulder, their bodies still slick with sweat, their breathing still harsh and shaky. The skin beneath his lips was hot and uneven. He raised his head to look.

Teeth marks. Deep ones.

She glanced down at them, then met his gaze, emerald haloing her still-wide pupils, her wild hair framing her face, a wicked, satisfied smile on her lips.

This woman was going to _ruin_ him.

#

Bitter bile rose to the back of Hope’s throat as she stared at her phone the next morning, trying to work up the nerve to text Chris. No, not Chris.

The demon who was using her as a meat suit.

Hope glanced out the window. It was raining as usual, sheets of water hitting the pane and running down like tears. Seth had left to prepare, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the overwhelming guilt that now overshadowed everything that happened the night before.

She and Seth should have spent the night strategizing, figuring out a way to help Chris, to get that goddamned demon out of her body. Instead, she had been—they had been—a jolt of heat coursed through her body at the memory of last night, followed by a rush of shame.

Christ, she was a terrible friend.

It was her fault Chris was possessed and it was her responsibility to get her out of this mess alive. If she hadn’t begged Chris to go to the funeral with her, had stopped her from going to Lauren, had stopped her from leaving the hallowed ground of the cemetery—hell, if she wasn’t this Nephilim _freak_ , Chris would be safe.

And Lauren. Dear God, Lauren—

Christ, Hope was _drowning_ in grief and guilt. She felt herself falling under the weight of it, unable to breathe. Her lungs burned as she struggled to draw air, tossing her phone aside, her head in her hands. She wanted to crawl into bed, to let the darkness of sleep take over, to let her ignore how utterly _fucked_ her life had become.

But she couldn’t. She viciously swiped her hands across her eyes. Reached across the coffee table, the bottle of bourbon still sitting where she’d left it the night before. She yanked off the stopper, took a large pull, then another. At least if her throat was going to burn, it could be for a good reason.

She tipped the bottle back again, but something stopped it, pulling it from her hands. She raised her head, meeting Raphael’s sympathetic blue eyes with her own, stinging with unshed tears. Then she started.

Because he wasn’t alone.

“Gideon?” She _hated_ that he was seeing her like this. Dishevelled. Devastated.

Broken.

He must have sensed her embarrassment because he gave her a lopsided smile. “All five foot eight of rugged handsomeness. At your service, milady.” He bowed, the barest gleam of mirth in his eye. Hope gave a ghost of a smile in return.

“What are you doing here?” She waved at them to follow her as she headed into the kitchen to make some coffee; Raphael had the good sense to bring her some grounds the last time he was there. She raised her eyes to Gideon; at his nod, she added more water and coffee, then pushed the button.

“Your friend. The one who was possessed by a demon. It may not be too late to help her, but we must hurry.” It was Raphael who spoke, giving Gideon a meaningful look. Hope glanced at Gideon, but he just flushed, bowing his head.

What the hell was up between them? She turned back to Raphael, who looked uneasy but did not explain.

“Thanks, but Seth said he would help me,” she said, cautious, turning her back on Raphael so he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see how it burned when she said his name.

“Exorcisms are tricky business,” Gideon said. “You have a pretty small window to get the demon out before it takes over the soul of the possessed. You could probably use an extra pair of hands or two, especially if it goes sideways.”

Hope grabbed the carton of milk out of the fridge, not quite ready to face them yet. She sniffed it and—yeah, it was _bad_. She tossed it in the sink.

“Gideon is correct. The demon is like a virus; it infects the soul of the person it possesses. There are many things which could go wrong, so you will need to find her as soon as possible.. Restrain her. Perform the ritual precisely.”

“She’s not your friend anymore,” Gideon said gently, clearly trying to soften the blow of Raphael’s words. “Demons are freakishly strong, and not afraid of damaging their hosts. If you’re not careful you could—”

“Kill her? Like I killed Lauren?” She banged the cupboard open, snatching a cup and dumping coffee into it, splashing some on the floor. She took a huge gulp—she hated black coffee, and it burned her tongue, but right now she didn’t care. At least with the mug in her face, they couldn’t see the tears stinging her eyes. Again.

Always, it seemed.

“Lauren was probably beyond saving,” Gideon explained. “Who knows when the demon got at her. Her soul was probably irreparably damaged by the time you encountered it. It doesn’t take long.”

This didn’t make Hope feel any better.

“Has Samael performed an exorcism before?” Raphael asked. Hope shrugged, slamming her cup on the counter, glaring at Raphael.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself? You’re brothers, right?” She left them in the kitchen, stomping into her room, yanking a sweater off the floor and shrugging her shoulders into it. She hated every bit of this. Learning that Seth and Raphael were in on something. That they were brothers and didn’t so much as see fit to mention her to the other. That they might be playing her against the other.

She felt stuck in the middle of some stupid family drama and she was _not_ here for that.

She lifted her head just as she reached the doorway, nearly colliding with Gideon. He must’ve followed her.

He grabbed her arms, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Hope snapped. “What isn’t wrong? My whole life is fucking wrong. I’m a goddamned freak. I killed my friend, my other friend is a demon, and if I can’t save her I’ll have to—have to—” she broke off, choked by the giant lump in her throat. She felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see through the tears blurring her vision.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Gideon wrapped his arms around her, drawing her head down to rest on his shoulder. Hope was too tired, too bone-weary to hold it all in anymore. It was too much for one person to handle. She started _sobbing_ , her whole body shaking so hard it felt like it would come apart. Gideon just held her, rubbing her back, making soothing sounds as she cried.

Eventually, she was able to calm herself, her sobs fading to stuttering breaths.

“I got your shirt all wet,” she muttered against his neck, feeling the rumble of him chuckling softly beneath her cheek.

“I have other shirts.”

“You smell nice.” He did, too. Like lemon laundry detergent.

“Thanks. I think.”

She pulled away with a tremulous smile. “I’m okay now.” She did feel better. Like maybe she could handle things.

Maybe.

Gideon searched her face, his clear blue eyes still concerned. Hope stepped back, running her hands through her hair before hunting in the pocket of her sweater for a hair tie. “Well, maybe not yet. But I will be.” She found one and pulled her hair back to secure it, except for a couple of ringlets around her face that wouldn’t be tamed. Then she squared her shoulders. “Let’s go into the living room. We have an exorcism to plan.”


	14. And What Stupid Thing Did You Do Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She searched the front pocket of her bag, looking for her keys—now that she couldn’t teleport from inside the apartment, she would have to lock the door from the outside.  
> They weren’t there.  
> She shook the bag a bit, hearing a dull thumping from one of the side pockets. It didn’t really sound like keys, but she opened the pocket anyway to see what it was.  
> It was an Angel Blade.  
> But it couldn’t have been. The only one she’d had was the replica, the one Raphael had given her, thinking it was real. And after they figured out it wasn’t he took it with him to show Gideon.  
> Then she remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope gets a celestial security system. Then gets a horrible realization.  
> And then something goes very wrong during the exorcism.

When Hope and Gideon returned to the living room, they found Raphael standing in front of the wall behind Hope’s couch, painting a strange symbol on it in shimmering golden paint. No, not paint—

“Angel blood,” Gideon said, answering her unasked question.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hope cried. Raphael spun, his left hand cupped against his belly, the first two fingers of his right hand dripping thick, glimmering fluid.

“I am placing protection wards on your walls,” he said, as if he did this sort of thing all the time. “To keep you safe when you are here. I figured it was more…convenient than replacing the one on your body. The one that faded when your mother died.”

“Wait, you figured that out on your own?” She asked without thinking. Then pressed her lips together when she realized how insulting it must have sounded. To her relief, Raphael chuckled.

“I am smarter than I appear. Apparently.” Raphael turned back to the wall.

“Thank God for that,” retorted Gideon. Hope snickered.

Raphael didn’t reply; he just continued to smear _angel blood_ over Hope’s living room walls. The two letters, which had to be Enochian, glowed even brighter before appearing to sink into the wall. Hope could just see the remnants of the same symbols on the walls to her left and right, like ghostly imprints.

“ _Ged Drun_ ,” Gideon said at her shoulder. “Roughly translated it means ‘not within.’ It’ll keep any demons from detecting you when you’re here. It’ll also prevent anyone from teleporting in or out.”

“So, I’ll have to go out into my hallway,” Hope protested, “where my neighbours might see me?”

“It beats having any unfriendly neighbourhood demons appear in your kitchen though, right?” One corner of Gideon’s lip curved into a sardonic smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

“And I guess it’ll make it less likely for Raphael to turn up just as I’m undressing,” Hope deadpanned.

“It was one time.”

Both Gideon and Hope burst out laughing. Raphael gave them an indulgent smile as he pulled a linen cloth from his pocket to clean his already-healed hand, but his smile faded to a frown as he crossed the room toward the other two. “Have you contacted the demon—your friend—yet? We will need to meet her in person to perform the ritual. Somewhere private, so we are not seen.” Hope opened her mouth to speak, but Gideon cut her off.

“Not here. Exorcisms can get…messy. We’ll need some paint, to make a devil’s trap—”

“Wait, those are real? I thought that was just on _Supernatural_.”

“Nope. Those writers did their homework. The exorcism ritual they use is real, too. Except for a word or two, which is probably on purpose.”

“Huh.” Hope frowned, considering.

“We will also require some holy water, perhaps acquired from a nearby church,” Raphael continued. “Was your friend a Christian?”

Hope snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Very well. We will have to acquire an object—”

“Do you have any way to get something of hers?” Gideon interrupted. “Something personal. The more attached she is to it, the better.” Raphael gave him a look that Hope couldn’t interpret. He returned the look, then turned back to Hope. “When your friend is freed, she’ll be disoriented. She won’t feel like herself. If we can give her something with some of her energy still attached to it, it’ll help the transition. A religious symbol tends to be stronger, but it could be anything she cherishes.”

“I suppose I could go to her place, to see what I—” she was interrupted by someone pounding on her front door. She gestured at them to wait, then bolted to the door.

“Seth? Why are you out here?” She stepped aside for him to come in.

“You tell me.” He looked annoyed as he came in, Hope closing the door behind him. “I tried to teleport in here, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see it in my head. It was like it didn’t exist.”

Hope rolled her eyes. “Right. Raphael did this thing, with the blood…”

“Wait.” Seth paused on his way to the living room. “Raph is here?” Hope nodded.

“Gideon, too.”

“Who the hell is Gideon?”

“He’s Nephilim. Like me,” Hope replied, taking his hand to lead him down the hallway. Seth stood his ground, pulling Hope into him, wrapping his hands around her waist, bringing her closer. She tipped her head back, his eyes turning to quicksilver as they met hers.

“I bet he doesn’t have your ass, though,” he murmured, reaching for hers. He bent, bringing his face closer. “Why can’t I keep my damn hands off of you?”

“A question for the ages, I am sure.”

Hope jumped, her face flaming as she turned to see Raphael standing behind her, his lips pressed together, his eyes impassive.

“Raph, did you just make a joke?” Seth teased, looking completely unabashed; Hope wondered if he was even capable of embarrassment. Raphael gave them both a look of blatant disapproval before he returned to the living room, Seth keeping his arm around Hope’s waist as they followed. She could feel him stiffen beside her as he spotted Gideon. He stared at him for several seconds, then looked back at Raphael, a bewildered expression blooming across his face. Hope squeezed his hand at her waist, hoping he understood her signal to keep his mouth shut.

“Seth, this is Gideon.” She paused. When he didn’t say anything, she relaxed. “They came to help with the exorcism. I thought, since we all have the same goal—freeing Chris from the demon—” she emphasized, “—we could work together?” Seth’s arm tightened around her, but he nodded.

Gideon raised his brows as he met her eyes. “I’m game.”

“Splendid. Perhaps since we have observed all the pleasantries, we can begin?” Raphael sounded exasperated. “We have much to do, and not much time in which to do it.”

#

Hope sighed as she dragged her duffle bag from her room to the front entrance. It wasn’t as full as last time, but it _was_ heavy because she’d had to stuff more clothes in there. If there was a place to do laundry in Heaven, she hadn’t found it and never seemed to remember to ask. And she certainly wasn’t home long enough to wash anything there. If she kept this up, she was going to run out of stuff to wear.

She searched the front pocket of her bag, looking for her keys—now that she couldn’t teleport from inside the apartment, she would have to lock the door from the outside.

They weren’t there.

She shook the bag a bit, hearing a dull thumping from one of the side pockets. It didn’t really sound like keys, but she opened the pocket anyway to see what it was.

It was an Angel Blade.

But it couldn’t have been. The only one she’d had was the replica, the one Raphael had given her, thinking it was real. And after they figured out it wasn’t he took it with him to show Gideon.

Then she remembered.

After the last training session, when she made the practice blade fly across the room, Gideon gave it back to her. And she took it with her when she bolted, tossing it on the floor when she reached her room.

And then completely forgot about it.

She must have dropped it into her bag instead of on the floor, where it stayed and—Hope’s stomach dropped—must have gotten mixed up with the real blade Raphael _had_ given her.

With shaking hands she unsheathed the blade, horrified but not surprised to see it glowing.

Dear God.

It was all her fault.

She’d made a mistake, a horrible, terrible mistake—and now Chris was paying for it. Hope sank to the floor, her face in her hands. Her stomach lurched, like she might actually throw up.

“Hope, what are you—” the words died in Gideon’s throat. She raised her head, the angel blade still clutched in her hand. “Oh no.”

“What have I done?” she whispered, her throat _burning_. She sat back, staring at the blade in her hands. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve checked it—”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” Gideon’s voice was soothing as he dropped beside her, gently stroking her back. “You couldn’t have—”

“It’s not okay!” She tossed the blade aside, the light winking out like a dead flashlight. She buried her face in her hands but the image of Lauren, bleeding in Chris’s lap, then that—thing—swirling around, not destroyed like it should have been—

“It is so far from being okay.” She clenched her trembling hands into fists, pressing them against her eyes. They were still puffy and sore from earlier, and now they stung with even more unshed tears. “Ugh! How could I have been so stupid?”

“What are you two doing on the floor?” Both Gideon and Hope glanced up at Raphael standing over them, looking puzzled. “And what stupid thing did you do now?” Hope snorted, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. Then Gideon explained what happened.

Once he finished, she waited for Raphael to start yelling—not that he’d yelled at her before. But she wanted him to. To shout at her for being careless, to tell her she wasn’t worth the effort of training. Instead, she felt his cool hand wrap around her wrist, pulling her up. For a wild moment she thought he was going to embrace her. Instead he dropped his hand and sighed.

That might have been worse than yelling.

“What’s done is done,” he said, and Hope wasn’t sure whether it was meant to be reassuring or resigned. He bent to grab the blade at his feet, sheathing it before handing it to Hope. “I trust you will be more diligent in checking your weapons from now on,” he said severely. There’s the scolding, she thought, as she dropped her head and nodded. “Good.” He passed them both, opening the front door before turning back to them. “I have preparations to make. Gideon, take Hope back to the dormitories. She needs food and rest, as do you.”

He glanced around to make sure the hallway was empty. Then he vanished.

#

Seth looked around, cautiously making his way to the front of that coffee shop near Hope’s place, but there was no sign of the demon in Chris’s body.

Yet.

It was drizzling outside, the dark sky thick with clouds, the nearby streetlights muted from the mist. They cast a hazy light as he stood outside the store, waiting. He wasn’t sure how the demon would react when she found him there instead of Hope and he didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt.

By the devil, that woman had an effect on him. He couldn’t have cared less about mortals just a couple of days ago. Hell, he’d barely cared about anything at all except himself. Now, he was thinking about others, about the potential consequences of his actions—he shook his head, turning to peer inside. The windows were foggy from coffee steam and the roomful of humans breathing the same air.

He swiped his hand across a patch of raindrops dotting the glass. It didn’t do much good in making the window easier to see through, but he tried anyway, cupping his hands around his face to block the outside light.

There was the demon, perched on a barstool, looking dreadful. Bedraggled. He remembered her glossy auburn hair at the funeral, now dulled with dirt and grease. It hung in a limp ponytail, draped over torn and dirty clothes, the same black outfit that Chris had worn to the funeral. She looked around listlessly, obviously searching for Hope. He waited until her eyes fell on him, her face twisting into a scowl. Her eyes narrowed; he glared back. Then she said something—probably not pleasant—bolting from the chair, heading for the door.

“You!” She looked pissed. “I wasn’t expecting _you_. Where is the girl? This had better not be some kind of—”

“Actually, that’s exactly what it is,” Seth replied smoothly, keeping his expression blank. Then he grabbed the demon by the arm, teleporting them away before she had a chance to resist.

#

Hope pulled her phone out to check the time, glancing worriedly over at Gideon, then Raphael.

Seth should have been there by now.

They were in an old railyard building, clearly abandoned for years. Only a couple of the lights worked, casting a dim glow around the large, brick-walled room. A thick coat of dust covered every surface and the whole place smelled damp and musty.

Hope, Raphael, and Gideon stood so they formed a triangle around the circle painted on the floor. A seven-pointed star had been painted inside, with Enochian symbols between each point.

Raphael had wanted to tie the demon to a chair, but there wasn’t one. Instead, he held a length of rope in his hands as he shuffled his feet.

“Wait, Raph, are you nervous?” That couldn’t be good; he’d looked worried before, but never _nervous_.

“No. And do not ever call me that again.”

“But Samael does—”

“And I have asked him not to. Many times.” He scowled. “I believe he does it to antagonize me.”

Hope glanced at her phone again, then looked up at Gideon. _She_ was nervous.

“It’s okay.” Gideon gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ve done this _a lot_. And on the fly. At least we’re ready this time.”

“But I thought you said it didn’t work most of the—” He snapped his head to the circle, just as Hope caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision. She followed his gaze to see Seth and Chris—the demon—appear right in the middle of the devil’s trap. Seth dropped the demon’s arm, stepping back until he was out of the circle, giving Hope a slight smile. She nodded at him, too nervous to smile back.

“You stupid _Nephilim_ bitch!”

Hope flinched, her stomach twisting. The demon sound just like Chris.

“You have no idea how much you will regret this.”

Hope started to answer but Gideon held out his hand, approaching the circle, uncorking a small vial of clear liquid. He paused just outside, then splashed the demon’s face and chest with it. She screeched as her skin began to smoke and burn. Hope gasped, stepping forward.

“No! It’s okay. It can only hurt the demon,” Gideon said as he returned to his place. “Don’t move.” Once he was back in position, Raphael began to recite.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus.” _We exorcise you, every impure spirit_. Hope expected the demon to screech, or writhe, or somehow show pain—it was always what happened on TV. Instead, she began to laugh.

“Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congretatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omins legio diabolica, adiuramus te.” Hope’s head started to pound, a shooting agony matching each beat of her heart. She clutched her head, gritting her teeth.

“Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque Gloriae perditionis venenum propinare.” Hope cried out, dropping to her knees. Her entire body was nothing but pain, every joint feeling like it was trying to split apart.

“Hope!” She dimly heard Gideon cry out beside her, then felt his arms come around her, pulling her head onto his lap. “Stop! Raphael, stop!”

“Yes, Raphael, you had better stop,” the demon sneered. “Unless you want to destroy your precious little _Nephilim_ over there.”

“Hope, hang on.”

She was barely conscious, could feel the darkness trying to pull her down. Maybe it would be a release from the sharp razors slicing through her insides. But then the burning eased, replaced with a comforting warmth. The pounding in her head ebbed with the growing brightness beneath her closed lids.

She opened her eyes.

Gideon was staring at her, eyes wide, relief in every angle of his face. She sat up and locked eyes with Seth. He looked terrified as he reached his fingers out to touch her face.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m okay.” Seth grasped her hand it to help her up, Raphael standing just behind Gideon, his blue eyes narrowed.

“What a touching scene,” The demon taunted. “That _was_ close.” They all snapped their heads back to her. “You don’t know why that happened, but I do,” she sang. And then she pointed at Seth. “And so does he.”

Seth swore, viciously, before he sprang toward her, unsheathing one of those red daggers as he approached the circle. “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she drawled as she stepped back. “Don’t want to damage the merchandise.”

He halted like he was actually debating what to do. Hope’s heart surged into her throat, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t call out to stop him. Apparently neither could anyone else because _nobody_ moved, watching as Seth clutched the blade harder, having some kind of silent debate either with himself or the demon. After what seemed like hours, he made his choice and turned back toward the others.

“Get her out of here,” he commanded, pointing at Hope. “We can finish the ritual without her.” Gideon reached for her arm, leading her to the door.

“But see, I don’t give a shit about the merchandise.” They whirled to see the demon holding her own blade, the tip glowing red against her chest. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to release me from this trap. Then you—” she pointed at Seth “—are going to take me and your little slut to Lucifer.”

“No,” Raphael said, dead calm.

“Yes,” she hissed. “I was sent to bring the girl to my master. If she comes willingly, he will set this—” she waved the blade across her chest “—free. If not—” she pressed the point in until a small wet spot appeared on her torn shirt.

“No!” Hope yanked herself out of Gideon’s grasp. “I’ll go.” She walked back to the circle, eyes locked with the creature. The thought of meeting with Lucifer turned her insides to water, but she couldn’t let Chris die. Couldn’t have another person’s blood on her hands. She held out her hand as she passed Seth; he pressed his blade into it and she used it to scratch at the paint, breaking the seal.

“Splendid!” The demon sheathed her blade as she left the circle, grasping Hope’s arm. Her fingers were icy cold—there was nothing in her touch even remotely resembling Chris’s. “Now, let’s join hands like friends,” she sang, clasping Seth’s arm in her other hand. Seth reached for Hope’s fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. She glanced at Gideon and Raphael over Seth’s shoulder.

They both looked terrified.

And then they vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the wording for the exorcism is real, but it _is_ the one used in _Supernatural_. And apparently devil's traps are a real thing that has been used other than in the show. Ah, research.


	15. Is That a Yes, Hope Grayson?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want, Hope?” She bit her lip, his eyes boring into hers; she felt something trying to get into her head, like invisible fingers trying to probe into her mind.  
> They _hurt_.  
> “I want Chris back,” she bit out, trying to move away, to fight his pull. But he tightened his grip, his eyes growing wider, filling her vision.  
> “No, what do you really want? More than anything?” The tendrils dug deeper, each one stabbing into her head.  
> Searching.  
> Seeking.  
> “To be normal,” she said, the words ripped from her mind and out her mouth. “To have a normal life. To not be some Nephilim freak. Or worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope gets handed a bombshell and makes a deal with the devil.

The demon stepped aside to let Hope through the door to Lucifer’s office, Seth right behind her. Then she closed it behind them.

And locked it from the outside.

Hope stopped dead. The room looked exactly like her parents’ living room. Same white walls, same beige rug, same slightly darker beige sofa, and—

“Mom?” Hope felt the blood drain from her face. The person sitting in one of the recliners looked just like her mother. She had the same thick curly hair Hope had, with more silver at her temples, but she was slimmer than even Hope remembered; Rob used to joke about her floating away in a stiff breeze. She seemed shorter as well, her sensibly-shoed feet barely touching the floor, dressed in jeans and a honey-colored sweater—Hope’s favorite because it brought out the flecks of gold in her mom’s hazel eyes.

Only this woman’s eyes glittered a hard black, lips stretched in a venomous, inhuman smile.

“Lucifer.” Hope’s heart thumped like a runaway kickdrum, beads of sweat trickling down her back. But she balled her damp hands into fists at her sides, glaring at him, her hand twitching toward her angel blade.

Lucifer curled her mother’s fingers around the arms of the chair to stand, waving a hand to indicate the whole room. “What do you think? I wanted you to feel _right at home_.” She narrowed her eyes further, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her unnerved. He frowned, then winked and snapped his fingers, transforming the room to a sleek, polished office, her parents’ sofa replaced with a rich black leather one, a long, dark-stained desk on the far end.

He also changed form, and Hope had to bite her lip to suppress a wild urge to laugh—with his dark hair, his slim, muscular build, and his perfectly-tailored black suit—

“Not an original bone in your body, huh? You look just like that dude from the TV show.”

“Such spunk!” She expected him to be angry, but Lucifer laughed as he crossed the room, leaning against the front of his desk. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he drawled, his dark eyes flashing. Hope wasn’t sure what he meant.

And decided she didn’t care enough to ask.

Instead, she sat on the arm of the black leather couch, arms and legs crossed, mirroring Lucifer’s stance. Then glanced around the room, trying to subtly catch Seth’s eye. He still stood just in front of the door, unmoving, his face expressionless.

“Fine. I’m here,” she said, working to keep all emotion out of her voice. “What do you want?”

“Drink?” Lucifer snapped his fingers again and a bottle of what looked to be scotch appeared on the desk, along with four glasses. He unstopped the bottle, carefully pouring a measure into a glass, holding it out to her. She was tempted—god, some liquid courage would have been welcome—but she kept her arms where they were.

Who knows what that actually was?

Her thinking must have showed on her face. Lucifer frowned in mock offense as he replaced the glass. “Oh, come now. I wouldn’t stoop to poisoning you. Such a cowardly tactic.” He turned his attention to Seth.

“Samael, my brother, join the party, won’t you?” Lucifer waved him forward and Seth took a couple of steps away from the door, his expression guarded. “I don’t know why you look so put out. You brought the girl to me, as promised.”

Hope froze, an icy band of fear constricting her chest. _What_ did he just say?

“And I hope you’ve been treating her well, that you’ve been a good _boyfriend_.” Hope whipped her head to Seth, her body stiffening even further. She needed to see his face, to look for any hint about who he had been deceiving, Lucifer—or her.

He still looked wary, but he kept his gaze on Lucifer, not meeting her eyes. She wanted him to be hiding how he really felt, so Lucifer couldn’t use it against him. Against her. But she couldn’t help the sinking feeling that threatened to take over.

If she’d let him fool her _again_ —

“Brother.” Hope could no longer see Seth’s face as he reached the desk, pouring some whisky, When he turned back around she searched his face for something, anything, but his eyes dark were unreadable. Her heart seized, but she knew she couldn’t show it. Couldn’t give Lucifer any ammunition.

She pasted an impatient frown on her face, turning her eyes back to his. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“Why you, of course.”

Hope wasn’t surprised. Seth had told her that. Hearing Lucifer say it still jolted her; she could only hope he didn’t notice. “What would you want with me, except my head on a pike?” she bluffed. “I’m Nephilim. I’m no good to you.”

Seth moved past her to sit on the other end of the couch; Hope wondered if she would have to physically hold her head to keep from glancing over to him, to keep her gaze on Lucifer, staring him down.

“Quite the contrary, my dear girl.” Lucifer stood, pulling himself to his full height as he paced toward her. “You are quite valuable to me. I suppose my dear brother Raphael told you of my plans?”

“Yeah. He said you wanted to invade Heaven, that you’ve been building an army of demons. What I don’t understand is why. Why do you want Heaven so badly?”

“Just going after what is rightfully mine.” He stopped, facing her, one side of his mouth quirked in a sardonic smile. “I should be the one in charge. Until Father cast me down, I was the most powerful, the most beloved of all my siblings. You do know my name means ‘light-bringer,’ right?” He continued his pacing until he reached the door, then turned and headed back to his desk. “I am still the eldest. The rightful heir to Heaven in Father’s absence. I should be the one to rule it.”

“But you fell. Your pride, your vanity was your downfall.”

“No.” He spun again to face her, his lips curled in a sneer. “It was Michael’s jealousy, his insecurity. He used my father’s love for you _mortals_. Father loved you more than his own children; he even gave you free will, which you’ve squandered time and time and time again.” He paused, his face relaxing, his expression smug. “Oh, but I’m almost forgetting. You are no mere mortal. Or Nephilim, for that matter.” He glanced over at Seth, Hope following his gaze. “Did you not tell her, brother?” A bolt of panic crossed Seth’s face, and Hope felt the floor give way under her.

Not tell her what?

Lucifer laughed softly. “Oh, he didn’t tell you, did he? Well, this does create quite the little…situation, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me,” Hope commanded. With more bravery than she felt, she sprang up and crossed the room to stand directly in front of Lucifer, drawing herself up to full height—barely reaching his shoulders, but still—glaring at him. “Tell me right now or so help me—” Her hand jerked once more toward the blue leather scabbard at her hip.

“What a little spitfire you are! I can see why my brother was so happy to bed you.” Lucifer cocked his head, considering. “I do believe you have your father’s temperament.”

“My—what?”

“Oh, and what spectacular green eyes you have. Such a bright, pure emerald. A most unusual color—I have only met one other with eyes like yours.” He looked so incredibly smug that Hope had to stop herself from clocking him right in the face. He was drawing this out, enjoying her ignorance, waiting to annihilate her with it. “You are a rare one indeed,” he crooned, reaching a long, slender finger toward her.

Hope held back a shudder as he stroked her jaw from ear to chin, pulling her closer until she was staring into his black eyes, his expression like shards of ice stabbing into her brain. “It is rare for the progeny of a demon-human union to survive. Rarer still to have the raw power that you possess. That I can _feel_. It could only happen—” his words were cut off as he flew backward, over the desk, slamming into the wall behind it.

Hope blinked, bewildered, her hands out in front of her. She felt exactly like she did right after she sent that fake angel blade across the room.

She dropped her hands and stepped back.

“You stupid little bitch,” Lucifer seethed, using the wall to push up to his feet. “How dare you attack me? I—” he paused, regaining his composure alarmingly fast as he stalked back toward her, holding her frozen under his stare as he came in close.

Too close.

He reached for her, his slim cool fingers cupping her chin.

“What do you want, Hope?” She bit her lip, his eyes boring into hers; she felt something trying to get into her head, like invisible fingers trying to probe into her mind.

They _hurt_.

“I want Chris back,” she bit out, trying to move away, to fight his pull. But he tightened his grip, his eyes growing wider, filling her vision.

“No, what do you _really_ want? More than anything?” The tendrils dug deeper, each one stabbing into her head.

Searching.

Seeking.

“To be normal,” she said, the words ripped from her mind and out her mouth. “To have a normal life. To not be some Nephilim freak. Or worse.”

“Ah, but I can give that to you.” His eyes softened, the strands retreating a bit, his grip on her chin loosening. Still, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “And your friend. All you have to do is help me.” His voice filled her head, his promise like a lifeline.

“Help you?”

“Yes. Help me. I know you have great power. Raphael, the others, they’re afraid of you. They’ll keep you on a tight leash. They’ll never let you go. But—” his lips curved into a smile “—once I win Heaven back, your life is your own. You could go back to the way it was before you got caught up in all this…nonsense.” In some dim corner of her mind she knew she should refuse, that this was wrong, but she found herself starting to nod.

“Is that a ‘yes,’ Hope Grayson?” His voice was smooth, soothing. She nodded again. He brought his face closer, his eyes a depthless black pool, taking up her whole field of vision. “You have to say it,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheeks.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Then we must seal the bargain.” He moved even closer, his mouth nearly brushing hers as he spoke. “With a kiss.”

Hope closed the distance, pressing her lips to his. The moment they met, her entire body seized, the air seeming to swirl around them like a vortex, whipping her hair in her face. Dimly, from far, far away she heard a shout behind her, someone yelling, “No!”

It was Seth.

Lucifer pulled away, a triumphant smile on his lips as he licked them like a cat trying to catch a last drop of cream. His eyes moved behind her, and she followed them to see Seth, on his knees, looking utterly desolated and defeated. He raised his eyes to hers, as dark as the stormiest of clouds, and the spell was broken. All the air in her lungs rushed out as her own legs gave way, icy spikes of dread slicing down her spine.

What had she _done_?

#

Seth leapt from the sofa the moment Lucifer touched Hope, reaching for his infernal blade as he dashed toward them both. Then slammed into an invisible wall, the impact nearly knocking him on his ass. He pushed against it as he watched Lucifer’s eyes meet Hope’s.

“What do you want, Hope?” As soon as he heard those words, Seth knew what Lucifer was doing, what he was going to make her do.

“Hope, no!” Seth yelled as he pulled the dagger free, red blade blazing as he tried to tear a hole in the wall, but it just curved around the tip like plastic film. He pushed his entire body into it, but it wouldn’t give. He tried a few different places, knowing it would be useless, but he had to do something.

Lucifer had Hope in his thrall and he was going to trick her into a bargain and Seth had to stop him at all costs.

He settled for trying to weaken one area, planting his feet and pushing the blade so hard into the invisible barrier he was worried it would snap. The wall just flexed around it, stretching infinitesimally.

Bending. But not breaking.

“Is that a ‘yes,’ Hope Grayson?” Seth dropped the knife, hearing it thud against the carpet as he tried to claw the wall apart with his bare hands, pulling and stretching at it, searching for the breaking point.

There wasn’t one.

“No!” he yelled at Hope, a roar which shook the entire room, making his throat burn. But he knew it wouldn’t reach them. The shield Lucifer had placed around them blocked everything outside.

Hope pressed her lips to Lucifer’s, sealing their bargain. Seth dropped to his knees, all the fight draining away, the heart he didn’t even think he had cracking in two. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as Lucifer’s eyes shifted, meeting his over Hope’s cheek. Seth froze, not able to breathe, to move under Lucifer’s penetrating stare.

It was done. Sealed with a kiss.

And Seth had irrevocably given himself away.

#

Through her haze, Hope saw Seth blink, reaching for the blade beside him. Felt the rush of air as he darted past her, dagger raised, his expression murderous. At the pressure of Seth’s blade at his throat, Lucifer stepped back, the scarlet glow throwing the angles of his face into sharp relief.

“He’s using you,” Seth said to Hope without looking at her. “He thinks you’re a tool. A weapon.” He dug in the blade, a bead of shimmering golden blood bubbling around the point. Lucifer chuckled, not bothering to move away.

“It doesn’t matter.” His lips curled into a derisive smile, his dark gaze moving from Seth to Hope. “The bargain is made. It cannot be undone. You know that, _brother_.” He reached up, pulling the dagger away. “Unless you’re willing to kill her.”

Seth pressed forward, shifting his weight to press the tip back against Lucifer’s neck, but Lucifer’s grip was too strong. The blade did not move. “We’ll find another way.”

Lucifer sidestepped Seth, strolling over to the demon in Chris’s body, who appeared as if from nowhere, sneering at Hope. The face belonged to her best friend, but Hope wanted to smack the smug, self-satisfied smile right off it. She settled for a scowl in her direction as Lucifer drew his own blade, pressing it against the demon’s chest.

“You could try,” Lucifer chuckled. “But that might make me angry.” Hope’s gaze darted between them, trying to look for an opening, some way to get Chris away from him.

“No,” she breathed, dropping her head into her hands, her mind reeling with what Lucifer had revealed. The bargain she’d made. That _look_ on Seth’s face…

Then, like the flick of a light switch, it all became clear. Who she was—what she was. And what she could do.

She could break the bargain right this minute by killing Lucifer.

She stood, her eyes clamping on his, feeling the demon blood coursing through her body, filling her with incandescent fury. She welcomed the rush of power, letting it build within her. Then, concentrating that storming, seething power, she raised her hands toward Lucifer once more.

Lucifer took one look at her and slowly dropped his blade, backing away from Chris, raising his arms in surrender. Seth lowered his own blade, stepping back, and as he turned to face her, his eyes went wide.

He was terrified. Of _her_. As quickly as it built, Hope felt the rage drain from her body. She nearly sank to her knees at the loss of it.

She dragged her eyes back to Lucifer, feeling her lip curl in disgust. At him. At herself. At how they were the _same_.

Both of them were monsters.

“Oh, come now, Hope. Don’t look so down. I am nothing if not true to my word,” Lucifer declared, throwing his arms open, his smile cold and hard. Hope huffed out a single humorless laugh. She felt hollowed-out. Empty. He couldn’t frighten her anymore.

She was too terrified of herself.

“I didn’t lie about letting you go, once you’re no longer useful.” Lucifer’s voice was carefully controlled. “You and Samael could even continue your—relationship.” He crossed his arms, but Hope knew the casualness was feigned. Even he was afraid of her—or at least what she could do. “And, to show my commitment to our agreement, I’ll remove my pet from your friend right now.” He flicked his hand and Chris’s eyes rolled back in her head before she collapsed to the floor.

“Samael, I trust you can take care of _this_.” Lucifer’s black eyes glittered as he glanced down Chris’s still form. “Then take our girl home. Make sure she gets some rest.” He flicked his gaze back up at Hope “You’re going to need it.”

#

Hope swayed on her feet as she knocked on the door of Chris and Stacey’s house, leaning against the jamb for support. Seth stood behind her, holding Chris in his arms in a deadlift, her head tucked against his shoulder. Hope had managed to find Chris’s favorite necklace—a silver chain and locket with a picture of Stacey inside; it gleamed in the porchlight that blared to life at their approach.

Seth had teleported them all out of Lucifer’s office because Hope was too exhausted to think straight.

She just had to get Chris home. Home, and safe. Then, maybe, she could sleep.

The house was dark—maybe Stacey wasn’t home. Maybe they could be that lucky. Seth gently shouldered Hope out of the way then flicked his hand, the door swinging open. He walked through, Hope following, her whole side braced against the house as she entered.

The bay windows in the living room to their left were curtain-less, the streetlamps giving them just enough light to make out the furniture. Seth kneeled to place Chris on the sofa and Hope managed to follow him inside before sinking onto the closest surface she could find—an antique high-backed accent chair—dropping her elbows onto her knees and cradling her head in her hands.

“Hope,” Seth whispered. He was on his knees in front of her, his hands wrapped around her legs. She raised her head just enough to glare at him.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Seth flinched like each word was a whipcrack. But he let her go.

“Who?” She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to believe Seth knew—he _knew_ —and didn’t tell her. She didn’t want to face the fact that he’d kept it from her, that he deliberately let her believe she was Nephilim when he _knew_ that she was so much worse.

But she had to know.

Seth stared at her with a haunted look on his face.

“Who is my father?” she asked again.

“Asmodeus.” She didn’t recognize the name, but the way Lucifer talked, the way Seth said it just now, she knew he must be important. Powerful.

This should be shocking, a revelation, she thought dully, but she was too exhausted to react. She dropped her head back down.

“I want you to go,” she whispered against her knees.

“But how will you—”

“I’ll think of something,” she snapped, although she had no idea what she was going to say to Stacey, how she was going to explain Chris’s disappearance, or why she had returned her filthy, injured, and unconscious.

He _knew_ —and he didn’t tell her. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head. He let her be blindsided. Maybe wanted her to be blindsided. She couldn’t think straight; she needed sleep and a large amount of caffeine. In that order.

“Just…go.”

She felt the shift as Seth stood. “Hope. I’m—I’m sorry. You don’t know how much.” His voice was soft and sounded apologetic enough, but maybe it was just another trap.

And then he was gone.

Hope must have dozed on the chair, but she woke to the creak of footfalls on the stairs behind her. It was early morning, the grey light from the overcast sky bright enough that she could see Chris, still unconscious on the sofa.

“Hope? What are you doing here?” She spun her head toward the voice, the movement making her dizzy. Stacey stood at the foot of the stairs, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders and around her small, round face, looking at Hope with bewildered curiosity. She wore an old-fashioned style nightgown, making her small frame even tinier. Hope remembered when she first met her, how odd she thought she looked next to Chris, who towered over them both.

But she knew better now.

Once Stacey reached the entryway to the living room, she spotted Chris’s still form and bolted for the couch, dropping to her knees, clasping Chris’s hands in hers. She whipped her head to Hope, her dark brown eyes wide with fear—and accusation. Hope’s chest squeezed with guilt—this must be what it felt like to wear a corset, she thought out of nowhere. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t come up with a lie to explain what had happened to Chris. She took a ragged breath that barely filled her lungs, struggling to stand.

“She’s okay, she’s—” Hope couldn’t get the words out. She felt like she was drowning, her guilt and exhaustion pulling her beneath the undertow. “She’ll be okay. It’s—my fault. Hopefully, she won’t remember. I’m so sorry.” She backed up as she spoke, nearly tripping up the shallow stairs to the hallway. “I’m so sorry. Please tell her. I’m sorry.” Hope took one last look at her best friend, knowing she probably wouldn’t see her again. Couldn’t see her again. It wasn’t safe.

 _She_ wasn’t safe.

She turned, walked out the still-open door, then, heedless of who might see, she went to the only place _she_ felt safe.

Brilliant sunlight streamed into Hope’s dorm room through the large window, the spires of the halls gleaming with reflected light. Hope stumbled toward the thick velvet curtains, yanking them shut, enveloping the room in near darkness, the walls still glowing their soft, yellow light. Then, without bothering to take off her clothes—or even her shoes—she collapsed onto her bed and let the darkness pull her under.


	16. You’re…Unique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What _do_ you want?” Gideon asked, quietly, interrupting her thoughts.  
> “To be normal,” Hope replied automatically.  
> “Well, I think we can both agree _that_ ship has sailed.” Hope snorted as Gideon took her hand once more, squeezing it gently in his. “Is this because of your friend?” Hope shook her head. “Because of what happened when you left? When you met Lucifer?” She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, tasting blood, but at least she was beginning to feel _something_. She wanted to tell him about the bargain, needed to tell him, but she didn’t know if she could face his reaction. Couldn’t face what she’d done. Not yet.  
> So, she decided to drop another bombshell. A slightly smaller one, maybe.  
> “I’m a demon,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth might have a reprieve. Hope shares what she learned with Gideon—and Raphael. They take it surprisingly well.

Lucifer looked up in mild surprise when Seth banged open the door, as if he hadn’t _just_ summoned him. He sat at his desk, papers strewn across it, tapping a gold pen against his lip. As Seth stormed through the door and into the office, Lucifer put the pen down, eyebrows still cocked, black eyes gleaming. Seth glowered at him as he reached the desk, bracing his hands against the dark cherry wood. He leaned in, staring Lucifer down.

“What do you want?” He pushed the words out, clenching his teeth, his jaw aching from the strain. Lucifer’s expression was placid as he pushed up from the chair, raising himself to Seth’s height. He reached for the bottle of whisky at the far-left corner of the desk, topping up his glass, inclining his head to Seth, who shook his head, impatience making his head pound.

Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. He was exhausted, knew Lucifer knew it. Knew Lucifer had summoned him now, instead of letting him rest, just to show he could. “You told me to make sure Hope gets some rest.”

“I did. But something tells me after such a busy day, she probably needs a little alone time.” He strolled around his desk, approaching Seth, who pushed off and backed away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Lucifer leaned back against the desk, bringing his glass to his lips. “Besides, as the song goes, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” His mouth curved into a sly smile.

Then he cocked his head, studying Seth until he started to feel like an ant caught under a magnifying glass. His stomach dropped, his pulse pounding in his ears. He stood perfectly still as Lucifer approached, circling him, his free hand draping across Seth’s chest.

“Your performance tonight was…inspired,” Lucifer breathed, moving closer. “I think she actually believed you care.” Seth opened his mouth to speak, to tell him he wasn’t acting. Her saying yes, agreeing to that horrible bargain—it nearly broke him. Her cold dismissal afterward finished the job.

Wait.

Did Lucifer truly believe it was an act? Or was he toying with him? He stole a glace at Lucifer, but he couldn’t tell.

Maybe it would be better to bluff.

Meeting Lucifer’s gaze, Seth took the glass from him, willing his hands not to shake as he brought it to his mouth. He took a large swig, welcoming the burn, warmth flooding to his icy fingers. Then, letting himself close his eyes and enjoy it, just for a second, he forced his lips to curve into a cold smile as he met Lucifer’s eyes again. “I am good, aren’t I?”

Lucifer clapped his hands once, delighted. “Well,” he said, waltzing back to his desk, turning to lean against it once more, arms and legs crossed. “Now that I have my new toy, it’s time to take her for a test spin.”

#

Hope felt like she slept for days. At first, a dreamless sleep of bone-deep exhaustion, but later filled with dreams of swirling black bodiless demons. Of Lucifer, standing in the lobby of the Hall of Healing, angel corpses everywhere, golden blood gleaming as it pooled in the center of the brilliant yellow floor. Of Hope, standing beside him, her own angel blade dripping luminous blood, her eyes black, an inhuman smile on her face—

She bolted up, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. She blinked—her eyes were wet. She wiped the tears away with her knuckles, then hauled herself out of bed, pulling the thick curtain aside.

It was nearly dark out, the towers gleaming quartz, rose quartz, and amethyst in the twilight sky. Hope considered going straight to the common room for coffee, but she felt filthy, like everything that happened the day before had left a sticky, putrid film on her. She fumbled in her rush to get her clothes off, not wanting them to touch her body for another second. Then she headed toward the closet leading to the bathroom.

Once she showered and changed into some clean clothes—a black tank, a thick purple cotton hoodie, and a pair of faded jeans—she padded barefoot into the kitchen for some coffee. Although she was the only one there, she made an entire pot, hunting through the cupboards for the largest cup she could find. She hoped Raphael and Gideon were busy, that they didn’t know she was here. She wasn’t ready to face them, wasn’t ready to explain what happened. What she learned.

She sat at the island, facing the window, the Hall of Death glowing darkly in the moonlight. The moon was full, huge from this vantage point, taking nearly all the space in the window. She took a couple gulps of coffee, wanting to just be still, to watch the moon, to follow the play of its reflection on the hematite tower.

But she was too restless. She bolted from the chair, emptied her cup into the sink, and headed toward the door to the hallway.

#

Hope was only slightly out of breath when she reached the roof, her hands gripping the rail, the wind blowing her loose curls into her face. She reached in her pockets for a hair tie, but they were both empty, so she pulled her hair back with her hands, tucking it into the collar of her sweatshirt as she pulled the hood up. Then she moved over to the spire, turning her back to it, slumping down to a sprawl, her bare feet splayed in front of her. The enormous full moon shone before her; she could clearly see the craters and shadows all along the surface, the light illuminating the clouds below, making them look like a puffy, silvery floor of pillows.

“I thought I might find you here.” Hope snapped her head up at the voice. It was Gideon, his face hidden in shadow, his thick curls gleaming around his head like a silver halo. He wore his usual black from head to toe, but his boots shone with reflected moonlight. Turning, he leaned against the spire, sliding down the wall, Hope following his movement until he was sitting beside her. Then she turned to stare back out ahead.

Hope had long legs for her height, but Gideon’s were longer, stretching halfway to the gilded rail. “Aren’t you cold, sitting here barefoot?” he asked. She _was_ cold; her feet were numb to the ankle. In fact, she felt numb all over. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t talk, didn’t even know what to say. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He shifted a bit closer to her, warming her left side with the heat from his body. He took her hand in his, her fingers prickling with returning warmth.

“I didn’t want this,” she whispered, not even sure he could hear her. The wind had picked up, carrying her voice away from him.

“Didn’t want what?”

“This.” She snatched her hand away, gesturing wildly. “Being different, leaving my job, my friends—I didn’t want any of it.” She dropped her arms, her shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, but the ass-kicking part is pretty cool.” She whipped her head to him; one side of his mouth was curved in a slight smile. She could feel her lips twitching in response as she rolled her eyes—knocking Lucifer on his ass _had_ been satisfying.

“Fine. That part’s…okay.” She turned, gazing back at the moon but not really seeing it. There was too much spinning through her head, too much for her to take in. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Lucifer told her, about being part-demon, the bargain she’d made and—Seth. After that night, when he’d told her he cared, when he tried to help her with Chris—but maybe it _was_ all a trick, to get her in front of Lucifer.

How could she have been so gullible? So stupid? The answer was painfully easy; she’d been too busy thinking with her—

“What _do_ you want?” Gideon asked, quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

“To be normal,” Hope replied automatically.

“Well, I think we can both agree _that_ ship has sailed.” Hope snorted as Gideon took her hand once more, squeezing it gently in his. “Is this because of your friend?” Hope shook her head. “Because of what happened when you left? When you met Lucifer?” She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, tasting blood, but at least she was beginning to feel _something_. She wanted to tell him about the bargain, needed to tell him, but she didn’t know if she could face his reaction. Couldn’t face what she’d done. Not yet.

So, she decided to drop another bombshell. A slightly smaller one, maybe.

“I’m a demon,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm.

“What, no you’re not,” he scoffed. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. When we were down there—I learned—” she hesitated. Maybe she wasn’t ready to tell him this, either.

“What did you learn?” Gideon reached across her, grasping her other half-frozen hand, turning her toward him. His brilliant blue eyes, reflecting the moon’s glow, were tight with concern. “Hope, what is it? You’re scaring me. Which is no small feat, I’ll tell you.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. Hope ducked her head, letting her hood shadow her face.

“I’m not Nephilim. Lucifer told me. No angel blood runs through my veins. I’m—” Hope took a shaky breath, pulling her hands away from Gideon to wrap around herself, as if she could shield herself from the truth. “My father was—is—a demon.”

“No.” Gideon’s hands slid up to grip her shoulders. “It’s not true. It can’t be. Lucifer was lying to you, trying to get inside your head.” He reached for his angel blade as he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, pulling her arm toward him. He pressed the hilt into her unresisting hand and the dagger immediately glowed a brilliant white.

“Look,” he said, relief and certainty in his face, reflected in the glow of the blade. “The angel blade doesn’t lie.” Hope closed her hand around the hilt, slowly moving the blade back and forth. Maybe Lucifer _was_ lying, maybe it _was_ another trick.

But then she remembered the agony she felt during the attempted exorcism, the expression on Seth’s face just before Lucifer told her, the surge of fury that caused her to fling Lucifer over his desk like a rag doll.

“No, it’s true.” She handed the blade back to Gideon with shaking hands, pulling her hood back, letting her hair tangle around her face. “I don’t know _how_ both things can be true. But they are.”

“So, what if it is?” His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his calm gaze. “That’s the difference between us and them. It’s why Lucifer and the demons hate us so much. Why the angels envy us—even if they’ll never admit it,” he said. “We’re human—well, not quite. But we have free will. We can _choose_.” Hope blinked at the intensity of his expression, then dropped her eyes, the weight of the choice _she_ made settling over her shoulders.

But then his words sunk in. She didn’t know what to say; she’d never thought about it before. Had never considered that the angels—that Lucifer—might be _jealous_ of them. Maybe, if choice got her into this mess, there was a way for choice to get her back out of it. Gideon had just handed her an enormous gift, this knowledge, but she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Not yet.

She stood, using the spire as a support. Gideon did the same, sliding the blade into its scabbard, heading for the path back down to the training room. Hope started to follow, but then he paused, turning back toward her, his face unreadable in the moonlight.

“Did he at least tell you which demon it was? Your father?”

“He didn’t. But Seth did. Some dude named Asmodeus.” Gideon’s eyes widened, his face going white with shock. He crossed back to her in one stride, clutching her wrist, pulling her closer, towing her down the path so quickly she nearly stumbled several times. Once they reached the bottom, Hope wrenched her arm free, forcing him to face her. “You know who he is. Gideon, you have to tell me.”

He sighed, running one hand through his hair, the other on the handle of the door. “I’ve heard of him. Not much. But enough.” He turned to the door, holding it open for her to step through. “Enough to know we need to talk to Raphael. Now.”

#

“Are you…certain Samael said Asmodeus?” Raphael searched her face, his brow furrowed—or at least as furrowed as it could be on his ageless face. He sat at the island in the kitchen, Gideon and Hope across from him, a plate of cheese, meat, and crackers on the counter. Hope held a fresh cup of coffee in her hands, letting it thaw them after being outside.

“Is there another demon with a similar name?” She asked, putting down her cup and stacking two kinds of meat and three slices of cheese onto one cracker before shoving the whole thing in her mouth. It’d been at least a day since she’d had anything besides coffee; she was _starving_.

“No,” replied Raphael, eying her as she made another tower of food. “We have plenty, you know.” Hope smiled sheepishly over her mouthful of cracker as Gideon snorted, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. Hope swallowed, then chased the food with a large gulp of coffee.

“What do you know about him? About my—”

“He is s a powerful demon. Just as Samael is Lucifer’s left hand, Asmodeus is his right. He is known for taking…liberties with mortal women.” Raphael’s cheeks turned pink. Gideon snorted again as he turned toward Hope, his left cheek dimpling. His eyes met her own, briefly, before rolling in Raphael’s direction. Hope hid her answering smile, lowering her head as she stacked another cracker with cheese.

“You mean he fucks them,” she said. Gideon burst out laughing.

“Yes.” Raphael nodded, his face now crimson as he waited for Gideon to compose himself. “He and Lucifer have been trying to create a half-demon for centuries. Asmodeus has lain with scores of women—usually by disguising himself as their husbands—but only rarely did those unions produce any offspring. Most of those died before they could be born; any who did survive lived for only weeks.”

“So, I’m some sort of anomaly. A freak,” Hope muttered, all humor gone. “I _am_ a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” Gideon insisted, his eyes still twinkling. “You’re…unique.” Hope snickered, rolling her eyes as Gideon reached for his angel blade again, placing it on the table between them, his eyes more serious. “She can’t be a demon, Raphael. Look.” He pushed the knife closer to Hope. “She can still wield this.” Hope dutifully picked up the blade, making it shine with its usual white brilliance. “How do you explain that?”

Raphael sighed, turning toward Hope. “I…cannot. If you are half-demon as Lucifer states, the angel blade should not work. Should never have worked. There must be some angel blood within you.” He frowned, as if considering whether to say anything more. “There is—a prophesy. I am loath to mention it, as it is vague. Still, I cannot entirely discount it.”

“A prophesy?” Hope gave him her best side eye. “Of course there’s a fucking prophesy.” She threw up her hands. “Let’s have it then.” Raphael pursed his lips, clearly regretting he brought it up. But he straightened his shoulders, leaning back as he spoke.

“When the balance of Heaven and Hell is deranged,  
And the battle for Earth is come to pass,  
One will bind the Angelic and the Profane  
Who shall be our Salvation; or turn all to ash.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause when he finished, the silence lengthening, growing more tense. Hope could hear the hum of the fridge, the creak of the chair on the tile as Raphael shifted in his seat, the soft tap of Gideon’s finger against the table. She gazed out the window above Raphael’s head, could see the sky just starting to lighten as dawn approached. Then Gideon broke the silence.

“There once was an angel from Heaven,” he recited as if beginning a limerick, his lips twitching. Hope couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing, the tension broken just like that. Even Raphael was smiling, reluctantly, as he turned toward the window.

“You should get some rest. I will see what I can find out about Asmodeus. Perhaps there will be some information about how you—”

“I have to tell you something else.” Hope’s voice was barely above a whisper. She had already decided not to tell them. To wait. Maybe until they sorted out this whole business. But the words came out anyway.

“When Seth—Samael—and I were in Hell. Something happened. Lucifer—” her voice broke, her breath catching, making it hard to breathe as Raphael’s eyes snapped back to hers in fresh alarm. She couldn’t say it—the words clogged her throat, choking her. She felt Gideon go still beside her. Raphael held her gaze, his eyes growing even wider.

“What did he do?” He asked, his voice calm and quiet, his expression anything but. Hope couldn’t face him anymore. She dropped her head, her hair falling forward in a curtain around her face.

“It’s not what he did,” she whispered, her throat burning. “It’s what I did.” She felt Gideon take her hand, his icy fingers lacing with hers, his pulse thudding against her wrist. The awful silence returned. For a long time, nobody spoke, nobody moved.

Then—

“You made a bargain with him.” Raphael’s voice was flat, expressionless. Hope nodded, staring at her feet. Gideon’s fingers convulsed against hers as he gasped, his body tensing, pulling her arm closer. She turned in her seat to face him, slowly raising her head, not wanting to meet his eyes, to face the disappointment and dread she was sure to find there. Instead his eyes were filled with sorrow. Tinged with panic.

“We’ll get you out of it,” he breathed, squeezing her fingers again, determination hardening his features. “Whatever you promised, we’ll find a way.”

Raphael sighed, deeply, then folded his hands on the counter. “What did you agree to do for him?”

“To help him win his war.”

Gideon sucked in a breath, his fingers tightening against hers once more. “And what are you getting in return?”

“He promised to give me my normal life back.” She felt miserable. Her throat and eyes scorched. “To make everything how it was. Before. And to take the demon out of Chris. Which he’s already done.”

Another length of silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the kitchen in the background. Then Raphael leaned back, shutting his eyes. “And is that—is that what you wish? To go back to your old life? To be normal?”

“I did.” She could barely hear her own voice. “But now—I don’t know.” Gideon squeezed her hand, resting it on his thigh. But his gaze was on Raphael. Steady. Waiting.

For him to have a solution. A way to fix this.

After a long, tense moment, Raphael sighed again, running his hand through his hair. “There are only three ways to end a bargain—four, if you include fulfilling your end of it.”

“Which is not an option,” Gideon snapped, glancing over at Hope, his face tight. Hope nodded.

“Agreed.” Raphael nodded, also. “So, either you need to die—”

“Also not an option.”

“Also, agreed.” Raphael frowned. “Can I finish?” Gideon had the good sense to look sheepish as he pressed his lips together.

“As I was saying, either you need to die—which yes, is not an option—or Lucifer needs to die, which is highly unlikely. Or he needs to fail to meet his end of the bargain.”

Hope dropped Gideon’s hand, bringing her elbows onto the counter, pressing her head into her hands. “He already gave Chris back,” she muttered. “And he doesn’t have to do anything else until after.”

“But his end of the bargain is impossible,” Gideon argued. “You couldn’t possibly go back to your normal life. You’ve changed too much, learned too much. He _can’t_ keep his end of the bargain.”

“He made the offer.” Hope turned to face him, not able to help the ghost of a smile on her face at his determined expression. “I don’t think he would have done it if he couldn’t deliver.”

Gideon snorted. “Well, if you ask me, the offer was pretty fucking vague.” He rolled his eyes, turning back to Raphael, Hope following his gaze.

Raphael frowned. “The terms are indeed…imprecise.” His expression softened, becoming more thoughtful. “We may be able to use this imprecision to our advantage.” Unfolding his hands, he pressed them against the counter to stand, glancing between the two of them. “Let me…consider this. I will let you know if I come up with a solution.” Then without waiting for either of them to speak, he vanished.

Gideon grabbed Hope’s hand, pulling her up with him as he stood. “What are you doing now?”

Hope shrugged, heading for the door to her dorm room. “I don’t know. I should probably sleep. But I know I won’t.” She placed her hand on the panel, glancing back at Gideon.

He gave her a tentative smile. “If you want some company…” his voice trailed off.

“I’ll find you,” she said, pushing open the door. But once she was in her room, she knew she didn’t want to be here. She almost felt like…like she didn’t belong here. With the demon blood running through her body, with the bargain she’d made—she wasn’t worthy of Heaven.

So she went home.


	17. I Have a Job For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope spun in a slow circle, eyes wide, surrounded by a large, green lawn, misty rain hazing the glimmering city lights all around them.  
> And the Eiffel Tower standing right in front of her.  
> “Holy crap,” she breathed, tilting her head back, looking up. She could just see the top of it, see the strobe lights flashing through the mist as part of the nightly light show.  
> “A little birdy told me you’d always wanted to come to Paris,” Lucifer drawled, sidling beside her. Too close. She sidestepped him, bumping into Seth on her other side. He reached for her waist; she instinctively leaned in.  
> Then jumped back, lightning spearing down her spine, her eyes flying to his. To see if he felt it. If he felt anything. But his eyes were dark, unreadable, a cold, brutal smirk on his face. She bit her lip, turning back to the golden tower rising before her.  
> She had always wanted to go to Paris.  
> But not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth is a not himself. Hope goes to Paris—and finds a way out of her bargain.

Hope woke to a knock on the door, blinking her eyes against the gray light streaming through the balcony door behind her. She must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa, the “Are you still watching?” screen from Netflix on her TV. Her head started to pound as she slowly sat up, seeing a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table.

It was full when she sat down last night.

Another knock on the door, louder this time. “Motherfucker,” she swore softly, scrambling up, reaching for a hair tie. She pulled her hair back, trying to finger-comb it into some semblance of order as she stumbled down the hall. She needed coffee. And water.

Peering through the peephole, she debated not opening the door. She wasn’t ready to see him. Didn’t have the energy for the fight she knew was coming.

“Hope, open the door.” Seth’s voice was hard, commanding. Closing her eyes, she went utterly still, hand poised on the deadbolt, barely breathing. “I know you’re there. Open the door.” She peeked out again, to see one palm flat on the door, his shoulders slumped, head down. He looked—broken. Ruined. It stopped her heart dead at the sight. Flipping the deadbolt, she threw open the door.

He straightened and stood, his expression turning cold. His eyes glittered with something unkind as he stared her down, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. Hope stepped back, feeling her insides turn to ice at the expression on his face. He’d never looked at her like that. At anyone like that.

Except for Lucifer.

He pushed past her to come inside, grabbing the door from her hand to close it behind him. He flicked his eyes down her body, looking like he could barely contain the sneer threatening to curl his lips. “Get dressed,” he ordered.

Her body thawed, replaced with a fury that lashed down her spine, hot and fast. Pulling herself up to full height, she leaned into him, glaring up into his face.

“Make me,” she hissed.

Seth gripped her upper arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. Hope bit her lip to keep from crying out as he thrust her away, his gaze roving over her pajama-clad body, his scorn transforming into a cold, lazy smile. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands.

“Sadly, we don’t have time for fun and games right now. Lucifer sent me.” His eyes darkened, just for a moment, so brief Hope wasn’t sure she even saw it. Then they cleared, steel-blue and hard as he crossed his arms. “I’ll stay here. And I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.”

“Fine.” She spun on her heel, stalking across the entryway, but instead of heading to her room, she turned into the kitchen. “But I need coffee before I go anywhere with _you_.” She was glad he stayed in the entrance and couldn’t see how her hands shook as she filled the pot with water, slamming it against the burner. How she nearly dumped the entire bag of coffee grounds onto the floor. How her eyes and throat _burned_ , thinking about the difference between the person standing in her doorway and the one on his knees in Lucifer’s office, desolation etched across his entire face.

She was barely able to strip off her pajamas, pulling on the same clothes she wore last night with trembling fingers, the button of her jeans damned near impossible to fasten. Dread pooled in her belly, both at having to face Lucifer again, and at having to meet Seth’s icy disdain. After the other night, even though she was furious with him for not telling her, she thought—well, clearly, she was wrong.

She closed her eyes, squaring her shoulders, willing her face to harden, to show no trace of what he was doing to her. How he was breaking her. Then she pressed her lips together, storming out of the room.

#

Hope spun in a slow circle, eyes wide, surrounded by a large, green lawn, misty rain hazing the glimmering city lights all around them.

And the Eiffel Tower standing right in front of her.

“Holy crap,” she breathed, tilting her head back, looking up. She could just see the top of it, see the strobe lights flashing through the mist as part of the nightly light show.

“A little birdy told me you’d always wanted to come to Paris,” Lucifer drawled, sidling beside her. Too close. She sidestepped him, bumping into Seth on her other side. He reached for her waist; she instinctively leaned in.

Then jumped back, lightning spearing down her spine, her eyes flying to his. To see if he felt it. If he felt anything. But his eyes were dark, unreadable, a cold, brutal smirk on his face. She bit her lip, turning back to the golden tower rising before her.

She _had_ always wanted to go to Paris.

But not like this.

“I have a job for you.” Lucifer pointed to the top of the tower. “Fetch.”

Hope glowered as she spun to face him. “Don’t you have pets for that sort of thing?”

“I do. And you’re my newest one.” Lucifer’s lips curled into a vicious smile, his black eyes reflecting the lights from the tower. Hope snorted, turning away, not even bothering to contain the disgust she felt. Lucifer chuckled.

“What the hell would you want up there?”

“Not a ‘what’,” he said, softly. “A ‘who’.” Hope closed her eyes, waiting for him to continue, fighting a wave of revulsion.

Lucifer was going to make her kill someone.

She knew why. He wanted to test her, to make sure she would keep her end of the bargain. That she would _obey_.

“Cut the crap, Lucifer. Just tell her what to do.” Hope startled at Seth’s voice, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes trained on the Eiffel Tower, on the steady stream of people boarding the lift to the top, the smaller line of people climbing the stairs. Then an image of a man filled her head—she didn’t recognize him. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with thin, balding hair, a broad barrel chest, and stocky legs, wearing a faded pair of jeans and a navy hoodie.

He could’ve been anyone.

“He promised me…something. It’s past time for him to deliver.”

“He made a bargain and didn’t keep it,” Hope muttered, her revulsion growing to full-blown nausea. She pushed it down, dampening it with contempt. “For what?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” Lucifer snapped. “Your only concern is to find him.” He unstrapped a dagger, handing to her, his mouth a thin line. “And end him.”

#

Hope lost track of the number of flights of stairs she climbed, metal shuddering with every step along a slow, winding series of squares. Up, and up, and up. Keeping ahead of the elevator containing her quarry as it began its ascent.

She thought of that day at the hall as she climbed, running along the path outside, racing Gideon to the top. Like then, she continued to climb, her breathing easy, muscles loose, no trace of fatigue. She could’ve done this all night.

But the stairs ended on the second level. And she needed to be on that lift.

As she passed the first level, she pushed her legs harder, twisting and pivoting around the handful of slower tourists, hearing them swear at her in French—and other languages she didn’t recognize—as she passed. She reached the second level seconds before the elevator did, ducking inside, her eyes hovering over each face just long enough to see if any of them matched the face in her vision.

He wasn’t there.

Hope bit back a flurry of curses as the elevator rose to the top floor. He must have been stuck in the line; he would be on the next run, then.

But he wasn’t on the next run. Or the next. Hope felt her patience evaporate each time the door opened, tourists spilling out with their phones and cameras ready, exclaiming over the view. But each time, as she watched the elevator descend, killing time before it made its way back to the top of the tower, she thought. About Lucifer. About this ridiculous assignment. About the bargain—what he’d offered, what she’d agreed to do. There had to be something there, some loophole she could find. Could exploit. There _had_ to be.

And as she stood before the glass—gazing at the breathtaking view of the city of Paris below but not getting to enjoy it—it came to her. By the time the elevator doors opened for the fourth time, her target walking out, arm casually slung over the shoulder of a much-younger woman, she knew what to do. She felt the blade come to life as she wrapped her hand around the hilt, knowing it glowed a brilliant scarlet in its scabbard, only dimly acknowledging she was somehow able to use both. Infernal and angelic.

Hope flashed the man a polite smile as she passed him, stepping onto the lift, the door sliding shut behind her.

#

She tossed the blade at Lucifer’s feet, scabbard bouncing across the grass, his dark eyes following it before he set them back on her. She fought the urge to shrink before the pure, unadulterated fury glittering in those eyes, keeping her expression impassive. Scornful. Even as she felt her heart pound, a slick of sweat streaming down her back.

“I won’t do it.” She let herself glance up and over Lucifer’s shoulder, at Seth, watching his shoulders relax ever so slightly, even as his expression of icy disdain remained. Lucifer bent to retrieve the blade, stepping toward her, clutching her wrist so tightly she thought the bones might shatter.

“You don’t have a choice,” he spat, thrusting the knife into her hands. “You made a bargain. You see—” he pointed up to the top of Eiffel Tower, where the man presumably still was “—what will happen if you don’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“But I haven’t reneged on our bargain,” she said softly, barely hearing her own words over the thunder of her heartbeat. “I agreed to help you win the war, not to be your hitman.” She willed her hands to remain steady as she now reached for Lucifer’s hand, to not recoil at the icy coldness of his fingers as she gave back the blade.

Lucifer jerked his hand away from hers, face tight with fury as he gripped her chin, pulling her face to his. “I don’t think you understand,” he breathed, the air from his lips brushing her own, his eyes engulfing hers. “You made a deal. I _own_ you.”

Hope forced herself to blink, to break his gaze, just for a moment. Then she set her eyes on Lucifer’s, fighting for control, resisting the thrall threatening to overwhelm her. “No, you don’t.” She tore her face from his grip, staggering back. “I could do nothing—absolutely nothing—and you could still win. I’d still be helping you—technically. You won’t know—can’t know—until the war is over.” She stepped back again, feeling her control return to her with every word. “You can’t do a thing to me until it’s over. If you win, I’m free. If you don’t, and you live, you’ll end me. Either way, you can’t make me do a goddamned thing for you _now_.”

Lucifer’s face contorted, no longer resembling anything human. In one lightning-swift movement, he tore the knife free from the scabbard, lunging forward to point it at her throat. “Then perhaps I should just end you now. I usually find such things…distasteful, having to do my own dirty work. But for you, I think I’d make an exception.”

Hope’s heart stuttered, her lungs no longer able to draw air. He was going to do it. She was going to die. She stood, frozen, feeling the tip of the blade press against her flesh, a thin stream of blood sliding down her chest. She closed her eyes, clamping her mouth shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She felt a rush of air, then—nothing.

Hope opened her eyes.

To see Seth, standing between them, Lucifer’s jacket clutched in his fist, his own dagger pressing against Lucifer’s chest, glowing red in the darkness. He glances over at her, his eyes black.

“Go.”

Hope didn’t hesitate. She left.

#

Hope stared out the window over the sink in the Hall kitchen, watching the dark stone of Azrael’s tower sparkle in the setting sun, warming her bare feet in the small patch that hit the tile floor. Teleporting across time zones was weird; just a few hours ago, it was nearly midnight in Paris. Makes jetlag seem like fun, she thought to herself, debating whether she should make coffee or take a nap.

She needed to tell Raphael what happened. So, coffee, then. She made a whole pot, then sat at the island while it brewed, calling Raphael.

“Jesus, are you two joined at the hip?” she asked as he appeared, with Gideon at his side. Gideon snorted, shooting her a wink before turning to fetch coffee for them both.

Raphael frowned, taking a seat across from Hope, the sky turning his golden hair into a pink-orange halo around his face.

“I’ve got it,” she said to him, not able to hold back a grin.

“Got what?” Gideon asked, sliding a mug over to her as he sat on the stool beside her.

“My way out.” Raphael’s frown deepened, the ridge between his eyebrows growing deeper. But Gideon’s face lit up, his smile almost as broad as hers. Hope took a large gulp of coffee, then told them what had happened in Paris.

“So, you were able to disobey a direct order from Lucifer?” Gideon leaned back in the stool far enough Hope worried he would tip over. “That’s pretty badass.”

“What, like it’s hard?” she asked. Neither of them seemed to get the reference. She shook her head, frowning. “Maybe it’s one reason why he got so pissed.”

“Perhaps,” Raphael mused, tapping a finger on the counter. “But I believe he was likely more angered you found a way out of your bargain.” He looked down, stilling his finger, folding his hands over each other as he leaned forward. “I’ve been—thinking. While you were gone. I believe Lucifer did not make an error. I believe he deliberately made the terms vague so he would not be obligated to fulfil his side of it. The fact you took advantage of that instead—”

“Badass.” Gideon sang, leaning even further back. Hope flashed him a quick smile.

“I really, really hope you fall over,” she replied, finishing her coffee as she rose to get more. He just stuck his tongue out at her as he handed her his cup.

“This does present a new complication, however,” Raphael said, once Hope was back. “If Lucifer does lose, an outcome we are all working toward, you _will_ have reneged on your bargain, technicality or no. Traditionally, it entitles him to your soul. But he could change his mind, decide to keep you. To use you as a weapon instead.” Hope choked, forcing the coffee down before she began coughing uncontrollably, jumping off the stool, her eyes watering.

Gideon got up to pound her back, glaring at Raphael. “Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

Hope snorted, bringing on another wave of coughing. Once she could breathe, leaning on the counter for support, she raised her head to Raphael, images flashing through her head. Of what would happen if Lucifer lost. Of what he would do to her. Of what he would make her do. Her gut clenched, icy tendrils of fear lacing down her spine.

“I guess I’d better make sure I kill him, then.” Neither of them said a word, but Hope could see the silent conversation Raphael was having with Gideon, his face tight. “Or you’d better make sure you kill me.”

#

Seth stood outside Hope’s apartment, knocking at the door for what felt like the millionth time. With no answer. He pounded the door with his open palm in frustration, then spun and slid down it, sitting on the small grey mat, knees drawn, head down.

He felt a jolt, then agony so terrible it seemed like it would tear his skull in half. It only lasted a moment, but left him breathless, sweat breaking over his forehead, his neck, running in beads down his back. He knew what it was—Lucifer summoning him. He’d ignored it before; it would only grow worse each time he resisted.

He knew why Lucifer was calling. Seth had drawn his blade against him, had tried to protect Hope. There was no way to pretend this time, to act like he was bluffing, like he was tricking Hope into trusting him. Lucifer had seen his face, could see how he felt, that he—another radiant crackle of pain speared through him. His entire body arched back.

He couldn’t ignore the summons forever. But maybe, if he could get into Hope’s apartment, he could be protected, shielded by the wards Raphael had placed there. He placed a hand—still trembling—against the door, using what strength he had to push up to stand. Although the pain was brief, the aftermath was not. His legs felt like they were made of wet clay as he pressed himself against the door, reaching for the handle. It turned, but the door would not budge. The deadbolt must be locked.

Hitching his breath, his hair now plastered to his head with sweat, he reached up, inching his hand toward the deadbolt. The second his fingers contacted it they _burned_ , the metal fire-hot. Seth hissed, snatching his hand away. Of course Raphael would ward the locks.

He took another shaky breath, steeling himself, pressing his fingers against the deadbolt again. This time, he ignored the burn, gritting his teeth as he slid his fingers counterclockwise over the metal. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the lock turned, his fingertips smoldering, then blistering before the deadbolt slid home. Seth was gasping, his shirt soaked with sweat, all his weight on his shoulder and knee against the door. He grabbed the handle with his uninjured hand and turned it, collapsing to the floor as the door swung free, no longer able to hold his body upright. Dragging his legs inside, he kicked the door shut.

Then lay there, body tense, waiting for the pain of the next summons. It didn’t come.

#

Nobody moved, nobody spoke. For what felt like hours, the tension building until Hope was sure it would suffocate her. Gideon and Raphael must know she was right. That they would have to kill her if she failed. That if Lucifer had control of her, that if she didn’t take him out—they had to know. But they didn’t want to say it. Or say yes.

Finally, she turned her head away from Raphael’s grim expression to glance at Gideon, her movement seeming to pull them both out of their trance. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” she said, sitting back on the stool, warming her hands on the mug. Her stomach was too twisted to drink any more; hell, the coffee she just had was _not_ sitting well. “Let’s talk about something happier. Like Asmodeus.”

Gideon cleared his throat, covering his smirk with his hand.

Raphael turned to look at them both, blinking several times. “Yes, well, pressing matters meant I did not have the opportunity to find anything more.” He stood, smoothing his sweater—the same bright blue as his eyes—down his chest, picking at some invisible piece of lint. “I suppose I have—”

“Wait! I just remembered.” Hope jumped off her chair, taking a couple of steps toward her dorm room, grateful to have something, anything to do. “I have a box at the apartment…my mom left it for me. It has some of her journals. Maybe I can find something in there.” She looked down at her bare feet, then back at Raphael and Gideon. “Maybe I should put some shoes on first, though.”

“I can come with you,” Gideon offered, sliding from his chair. Hope opened her mouth to agree but spotted the deep, dark circles contrasting with the clear blue of his eyes.

“When was the last time you slept?”

Gideon shrugged, one side of his mouth lifting. “I don’t know. Last time I saw you? Before that.”

Hope’s face fell, guilt settling like a chunk of lead in her belly. “That was at least a day ago,” she said, her voice barely audible over the background noises of the kitchen. She reached forward, touching his cheek, flashing him a smile she hoped looked reassuring. “Get some sleep. I won’t be long.”

Once she was in her dorm room, she stared at the bed, suddenly exhausted. Maybe she could have a short nap before heading to her place to pick up the box. Just an hour or two.

She didn’t bother changing or going under the covers. Just laid down and fell instantly to sleep, despite the two cups of coffee.

And woke to brilliant early morning sunlight streaming through her window.


	18. I Had Nowhere Else to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth was asleep on the sofa, his long legs dangling off one end, his hair mussed, curling around his ears and neck. She didn’t expect to see him so soon. She wasn’t ready to deal with him. With how he acted yesterday—last night? In Paris. He’d seemed so cold, like he could hardly stand to be near her, yet—he’d stopped Lucifer from killing her. And he was _here_.  
> But he knew about her father. Had kept it from her, letting Lucifer nearly destroy her with it. Even now, thinking he might have done it on purpose, that what she thought he felt for her could have been a lie, made her want to cry. Or scream. Or vomit.  
> She was _not_ ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope finds an unexpected guest.

Hope scowled as she turned the key to her apartment—because she didn’t hear the click of the deadbolt sliding open. Nobody else had keys to her place; Jake’s still sat on the dining room table where he’d placed them that night.

 _God_.

It was only a couple of weeks ago, but it felt like years. She hadn’t thought of Jake this entire time, hadn’t so much as considered whether he was dead or alive.

“Thank God for small mercies,” she muttered as she stepped inside. The hallway looked the same as she had left it, no sign of anyone else. As she closed the door behind her, she paused, listening for someone.

The place was silent.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t alone. Hope kicked off her shoes, padding into the dining room to retrieve the box of her mother’s things, her bare feet soundless against the carpet. Then she froze.

Seth was asleep on the sofa, his long legs dangling off one end, his hair mussed, curling around his ears and neck. She didn’t expect to see him so soon. She wasn’t ready to deal with him. With how he acted yesterday—last night? In Paris. He’d seemed so cold, like he could hardly stand to be near her, yet—he’d stopped Lucifer from killing her. And he was _here_.

But he knew about her father. Had kept it from her, letting Lucifer nearly destroy her with it. Even now, thinking he might have done it on purpose, that what she thought he felt for her could have been a lie, made her want to cry. Or scream. Or vomit.

She was _not_ ready.

Trying to stay silent, she crept toward the box, bending down to grab it and leave without waking him up.

“Hope?”

Fuck.

She turned to see him gazing at her over the arm of the sofa, his eyes glassy with sleep. The last time he looked at her like that—her stomach flipped, a flood of heat spreading over her body. She closed her eyes against it, willing it down. Then she opened them again, glaring at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I—” He ran his hand over his face as he stood. His clothes—the same clothes he had worn yesterday—were wrinkled and stiff. “I had nowhere else to go,” he confessed, looking down at his hands. A small part of her listlessly noted the fingertips of his left hand were pink and raw-looking, as though newly healed.

“What do you mean ‘nowhere else to go?’” she scoffed. “You can go anywhere. We were in goddamned Paris yesterday.” The memory of his face, the way he acted—she tried to cover up her hurt and confusion with anger. A way easier emotion to handle.

He kept his eyes down for a long time, but when he lifted them to hers—he looked haunted. “Hope, I’m sorry—”

“Save it,” she snapped, not even sure why she cut him off. Maybe because it would be easier to stay mad. Because it would be too hard to hear him apologize if he didn’t mean it. “Why can’t you go home?”

“Lucifer has been summoning me. After yesterday—last night—” he cut himself off. “He’s been getting more…insistent.” His lips lifted in a tentative smile; Hope didn’t return it. “Here, with the wards Raphael placed—it’s the only place he can’t reach me.”

Hope nodded once, far more calmly then she felt, before heading into the kitchen for some coffee. He followed her, leaning against the doorway as she filled the pot, slamming it into the coffee maker with much more force than necessary. She misjudged the height of the scoop, spilling grounds onto the counter and floor, but she ignored it as she whirled to face him, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying.

“It _killed_ me to do that to you yesterday,” he said. “The way you looked at me, the way you acted—but I had to—” Seth swallowed, starting to reach for her, then dropped his arm.

And then Hope realized why. Why he’d done it. He needed her to be angry, to be _furious_ , to have all her defenses up. He needed her to face Lucifer thirsty for a fight.

Seth’s face softened as he saw the realization dawn on her face. “That night, when you agreed to Lucifer’s bargain—it _ruined_ me. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest,” he said, dropping his head. “But I couldn’t let Lucifer know, couldn’t let him use it against me. Against us. I had to pretend—to act like it was all a show.”

Hope stepped toward him, reaching for his hand. Then she remembered what else she had learned that night, her fingers curling into a fist as she jerked them away.

“You _knew_ ,” she breathed. “You knew about Asmodeus. About who—what—I am. And you didn’t tell me.”

Seth snapped his head back up, jaw clenched, eyes darkening to the color of storm clouds. “I didn’t know until a few days ago. I suspected before, but I didn’t know for sure until the night of the funeral. I tried to tell you the next morning—”

“But Raphael showed up,” she finished, remembering that morning. When he started to tell her—something. And got distracted. “But you _had_ other chances. What about that night? You could have told me then, _Samael_ —” he flinched, but it wasn’t as satisfying as she wanted it to be. “But you were too busy fucking me.”

He closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. “No. Hope…” he opened his eyes, locking them with hers. She fought the pull of him, glaring at him; even now, furious as she was, she felt drawn to him, like the tide to the moon. He began to take a step toward her but stopped. “I should’ve told you.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in spikes on his head. “I was a coward. I think a part of me didn’t want to hurt you, to see the look on your face, when you learned—”

“I’m part-demon? I’m this—thing?” She looked up at the ceiling to fight back tears, taking a couple of deep breaths. Even though she hadn’t changed, not really, she couldn’t help but feel wrong. Like her body didn’t even feel like hers anymore—she might as well have grown horns and cloven feet. And she _knew_ it wasn’t Seth’s fault, but she wanted him to be disgusted too, to find her as hideous as she felt.

She closed the distance between them, her gaze fixed on his lowered head. “Look at me,” she commanded. He did, meeting her eyes. She searched his face, looking for any sign of revulsion, some hint of disgust; instead his pupils dilated, the irises shrinking to bands of quicksilver. Almost against her will she responded to the raw hunger in his eyes, shoving him into the tiny space between the edge of the counter and the wall, crushing her mouth against his, pressing her body closer, grabbing fistfuls of his hair with both hands and pulling it, hard. He gasped, his hands sliding up her back, his nails digging into her spine.

She wanted to hurt him as much as she did so she sank her teeth into his lower lip, until she tasted blood. He sucked in a breath, tightening his arms further, squeezing her against him. She tried to lose herself in the taste of him, the smell of him promising to overwhelm her, to make her forget.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t get what Lucifer told her out of her head. She couldn’t forget who she was.

 _What_ she was.

She tore her mouth away, Seth’s eyes flying open, still dark and heavy with desire. Both were breathing hard, eyes locked.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I am,” she spat, pushing away. She returned to the living room, sinking onto the sofa, her head in her hands. From the corner of her eye, she could see Seth’s feet approaching, but she threw her hand up, not looking at him. “Don’t. Don’t come near me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he started, his voice husky. “You’re—perfect.” He took a deep breath, and, with a jolt of terror, Hope knew what he was going to say next.

He couldn’t possibly mean it. Not when she hated herself so much. It would be unbearable to hear those words come out of his mouth. “Hope, I—”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered, raising her eyes to him, not bothering to disguise the disgust she felt. Her eyes burned, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Don’t you dare say it.” She stood, stalking past him to the liquor cabinet.

Coffee wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

Hope felt like she might burst with all the rage and pain surging through her, but she couldn’t direct it at anyone or anything. She wanted to hit Seth, to throw the bottle of bourbon at his head. Or maybe march back over and fuck him until she couldn’t think straight. Anything to feel better, to feel—human. Instead, she calmly poured a healthy amount of whisky into two glasses, handing one to him without making eye contact as she returned to the sofa, setting her glass on the coffee table. “Tell me. Tell me about Asmodeus. My—father.”

Seth sighed, then carefully made his way over to the opposite side of the sofa. He took a sip from his glass, still staring straight ahead, his hands shaking. “What do you want to know?”

“You can start by explaining this.” She eyed him warily, her hand reaching for the angel blade at her hip. As she pulled it free, it glowed, casting its usual brilliant white light. “Raphael told me Asmodeus was Lucifer’s lieutenant, like you. But he’s a demon. I shouldn’t be able to do this, being what I am. So how is it possible?” She watched as Seth stared at the glowing blade, his face thoughtful.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak for what felt like a long time. Then he sighed, wincing as he massaged his temples. “I don’t know. Asmodeus started off as a low-level demon—like the one that had Chris. His specialty was possessing women, getting them to kill their husbands before they could consummate their marriages, making them kill themselves afterward. He was very good at his job,” he said sardonically. “So good, he attracted Lucifer’s attention, moving through the ranks until he was promoted to lieutenant. Just as I am—was—Lucifer’s left hand, Asmodeus is his right.” He paused to sip from his glass, dropping his other hand. “When Lucifer made Asmodeus his lieutenant, he wanted to make him stronger, more powerful. More difficult to kill. To do it, he gave him some of his own angel blood. But it wasn’t—”

“Wait, he can do that?” Why didn’t Raphael mention Lucifer had done that? Maybe he didn’t know. Hope reached for her glass, the blade still gleaming in her other hand.

Seth nodded. “All archangels can. Most demons can’t take it, though. Asmodeus was stronger than most.” He took another drink, looking over at her as she did the same.

The alcohol smoldered inside, but it steadied her somewhat. She still felt vulnerable, exposed, but at least she didn’t want to throw her glass in his face.

“I’m not sure it was enough to make you Nephilim, though. An angel blade in Asmodeus’s hand is just an ordinary weapon.”

“Well, fuck me.” Without thinking, Hope flung the blade; it sailed in the air, flipping once before embedding itself in the wall. Then she heard a noise which sounded like a strangled cough—she turned to see Seth’s lips twitching over his glass. “Is there anything else?” she asked, fighting her own perverse desire to laugh.

“Asmodeus, at Lucifer’s command, had been trying—” he began, but Hope cut him off.

“To trick women into sleeping with him, thinking it’s their husband. To create a demon-mortal hybrid, like me. For years.” Seth nodded. “Okay, but my mom wasn’t married when she got pregnant with me. I don’t even know if she was with anyone.”

“Well, clearly she was with _someone_ ,” he pointed out. Hope turned to look at him, saw him trying—and failing—to hold back a smirk. Despite herself, she felt her mouth curve in response.

“Okay, fine.” She stood, placing her empty glass on the table. “But as…educational as this has been, I actually came back for a reason,” she said, heading back to the dining room and picking up the large banker’s box from the floor. She remembered when Seth carried this box into her place, the night they—she locked eyes with his and felt warmth pool below her belly. She saw the same raw desire in his eyes as he stood; for a moment she thought he was going to come to her.

Then the apartment buzzer sounded, a long, jarring blare that made her jump in surprise, the spell broken. She carried the box to the front door, then buzzed the person in.

“Expecting someone?” Seth asked, a lazy smile on his face. “Your other boyfriend perhaps?”

“Bold of you to presume I have one in the first place—”

Someone knocked on the door.

Hope opened it to find an older man standing there. What little hair he had was plastered to his round head with rain, his cheap suit nearly soaked through. Still, the envelope he held out to her was dry.

“You Hope Grayson?” He asked listlessly. Hope nodded as he handed the envelope to her; she barely had time to grab it before he turned to leave.

“You’ve been served,” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the stairwell.

Hope closed the door again, turning the envelope over in her hands—she couldn’t tell where it was from. She tore it open, pulling the papers out, scanning them—and then she laughed with disbelief.

“What is it?” Seth asked, reaching for the papers. Hope pulled them away, tossing them on the box with a sigh.

“Divorce papers. My ex is claiming adultery.”

“Adultery?” He quirked an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “That’s still a thing?”

“Apparently. He probably just wants to get it over with. Without a reason he’d have to wait a year.”

“So,” Seth drew the word out slowly, hooking his fingers through the beltloops of her jeans, “I’m messing around with a married woman?” He ran his hands around to her back, pressing his fingers into her spine. “Am I the other man?” He looked at her like she was the last piece of cake on Earth—and he hadn’t eaten in days. She wanted to let him have her—he was like a goddamn drug—but with an effort, she pulled away.

“Seth—we can’t. I need some time. To wrap my head around this whole…thing,” she said, throwing her arms out.

“But—”

“Lucifer must be _pissed_. He’s going to want to get to me. To hurt me. I need to see what—if anything—I can get from my mom’s journals.” She turned to grab the box again, Seth going around her to open the door. “Then I need to find a way to hide my family and friends from him. To keep them safe.” She turned back to him. “You can stay here as long as you want, though I’m not sure when—”

“Hope.” His voice was resigned. “He’s not going to go after your family and friends. He’s going to go after me.”

No.

But she could see it; he would know—better than anyone—what Lucifer would do. “I betrayed him, and it’ll destroy you. He gets to kill two birds. I just—” he ran his hand through his hair, dropping his eyes. “I hope you can forgive me. For not telling you.”

“I already have.” Hope wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth—she _wanted_ to forgive him—he looked so…forlorn. But it was all too much; she couldn’t tell how she felt about anything right now. She needed time to process this—time she knew she didn’t have. “I’ll come back. Tonight, if I can.”

She stepped into the hallway, closing her eyes, seeing her dorm room in her mind, waiting for the rush of air. When she opened them, she was there.

Alone.


	19. Oh, I Have Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This one was from when I was six—not watching _The Craft_ ,” she added, giving him the side eye. “My stepdad mentioned something happened, something that scared her.” She browsed through the pages, looking for her name—she came up a lot. But there. “Holy crap,” she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. She passed the book to Gideon, pointing out the passage; he read it aloud.  
> “‘Hope had another one of her spells again. I don’t understand where her temper comes from. One minute she’s a perfect angel, and the next…this time was different, though. I caught her playing with Dan’s GameBoy, even though she wasn’t supposed to. When I took it from her, she gave me the most horrible look, like her eyes were glowing, then the Gameboy flew from my hand and smashed into the wall. Of course, Dan was upset—we’ll have to get him another one. But I can’t stop thinking about the look in Hope’s eyes. I don’t know what to do.’” Gideon whistled. “Jesus Christ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope and Gideon look through her moms journals.  
> And then she gets a hangover (and says one of my favorite lines, like, ever) and learns some archery.  
> Seth is discovered.

Hope sat on the floor of the common area, papers and books scattered everywhere, the banker’s box beside her—along with an empty plate and two coffee cups. One of the cups was half-full—Hope absently took a sip, then wrinkled her face. God, cold coffee was disgusting. She set it aside again, turning her face back to the book in her hands.

“Here. Thought you might like some from this century.” The smell of fresh coffee hit her nose; she set the book aside, snatching the cup from Gideon’s hands. She’d been so absorbed in her mother’s journals she hadn’t even heard him, not six feet away, although he clearly hadn’t been that quiet.

“Thanks.” She flushed as she raised the cup to her mouth, blowing on it. Gideon sat on the floor facing her, legs crossed, on the only area of carpet not occupied by debris.

“So, this is your mom’s stuff, huh?” He looked around, then leaned forward to pick up one of the hardcover notebooks.

“Yeah. It’s one of her grimoires.” Gideon’s eyebrows hitched. Hope snorted. “Turns out, she dabbled in Wicca in her twenties. Shocking, I know.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“But it was a thing back then, right? _The Craft_ and all?” Hope laughed as Gideon began to flip through the book.

“ _The Craft_ came out when I was…six, I think? So, I guess she was a bit before her time.”

“If you were six,” Gideon glanced up, doing the math, “I guess that means I was…four? I don’t think I would have been allowed to watch that.” He winked at Hope, turning his attention back to the book, frowning as he scanned the page. Then he scooted beside Hope, pointing at the page. “This isn’t Wiccan. It’s Enochian.” Hope recognized a couple of the symbols—they were the same as the ones Raphael had painted on the walls of her apartment. She flipped back a couple of pages to the beginning of the ritual.

“This is to summon a Holy Guardian Angel. Do you know anything about it?” Hope asked. Gideon glanced at the page, scrunching his face.

“Not much—Raphael probably knows more—but enough to know this ritual probably wasn’t going to work. At least not the way your mom would have wanted it to.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, for one thing, it doesn’t require her to cast a circle first. She does have to perform a banishing—” he pointed to the bottom of the page “—but if she didn’t contain the space first, the banishing is basically useless. At best, it likely protected her from being possessed. But anything could have entered whatever temple she was using and pretended to be her Holy Guardian Angel.”

“I think we already established anything did.” Hope slumped, her shoulders dropping as she brought the book she was reading—one of her mother’s journals—up to eye level. “Look. She wrote about communing with her HGA—I didn’t even know what that stood for until now.” She pointed to the top of the page, to the date: May 1, 1989. Then she flipped it, running her finger about halfway down. “And here. I don’t think they just communed, if you know what I mean.”

“May first—that’s Beltane. It’s a Wiccan Sabbat. A holy day of fertility, to honor the joining of the feminine and the masculine—” Hope snickered. Gideon flashed a quick grin before continuing. “Some elements of this ritual seem genuine, so it could well attract a powerful demon like Asmodeus. And Raphael said he had been trying to create a child.”

Hope sighed, taking a sip of coffee, wishing it was something stronger. “So, it’s all true, then.” She realized she had been hoping, with some not-small part of herself, that she would find something in these journals to refute Lucifer’s claim. That maybe even Seth got it wrong. But here was the proof; her mom went on about the communion for several pages. Hope flipped through them listlessly, barely scanning them while Gideon read over her shoulder.

“‘I saw a clear astral image of a dark human-shaped entity in front of me which I knew to be my HGA. I merged with it and my consciousness became elevated.’ Wow, that’s hot.”

Hope couldn’t hold back her snicker. “Watch it. That’s my mom you’re talking about.” Gideon burst out laughing. She joined him, and then they both got into a fit of giggles—as soon as one of them began to slow down, the other started laughing again. It took a long time to for them to calm down, tears streaking down both their cheeks. Finally Hope reached over, grabbing another one of her mother’s journals. “Okay, we need to get serious again.” Gideon nodded, his eyes still dancing.

“This one was from when I was six—not watching _The Craft_ ,” she added, giving him the side eye. “My stepdad mentioned something happened, something that scared her.” She browsed through the pages, looking for her name—she came up a lot. But there. “Holy crap,” she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. She passed the book to Gideon, pointing out the passage; he read it aloud.

“‘Hope had another one of her spells again. I don’t understand where her temper comes from. One minute she’s a perfect angel, and the next…this time was different, though. I caught her playing with Dan’s GameBoy, even though she wasn’t supposed to. When I took it from her, she gave me the most horrible look, like her eyes were glowing, then the Gameboy flew from my hand and smashed into the wall. Of course, Dan was upset—we’ll have to get him another one. But I can’t stop thinking about the look in Hope’s eyes. I don’t know what to do.’” Gideon whistled. “Jesus Christ.”

“Right?” Hope dropped her head into her hands. “This. This explains everything.” She sighed, taking a deep breath, pushing it loudly through her nose. “My mom was super-protective. Barely let me out of her sight. Wouldn’t let me sleep over at my friends’ places, didn’t want me going anywhere alone.” The words came out in a rush. “I’m surprised she even let me go to school. Every time I came home, she looked so worried and anxious, like she expected bad news.” She laughed, but without humor. “I guess I can see why, now.” She glanced up at Gideon—he stared at her, half-horrified, half-sympathetic. When he didn’t say anything, she continued.

“The minute I graduated from high school, I moved out. Started nursing school that fall. I barely talked to my mom after, only really seeing her for Christmas, and even then, it was…strained.” She gave Gideon a rueful smile. “The last time I saw her was about four years ago. At my wedding.” Gideon’s brows shot up into his hairline.

“You’re _married_?”

Hope shook her head, pointing to a stack of papers beside the box. “Not for much longer. Those are the divorce papers.”

Gideon cleared his throat, loudly, then turned his eyes back to the journal, reading, flipping the page a couple of times. “Uh, you might want to start reading—” he pointed “—here.” Hope read as quickly as she could, frowning.

“She managed to just conjure up her actual guardian angel without any kind of spell?”

“Her angel must have been very concerned. Or she was very desperate.”

“Wouldn’t you be, if your kid could make objects fly around the room when she was pissed?”

Gideon shrugged.

“But look. She said her guardian angel mixed her own blood with mine, hoping it would counteract—whatever she thought was wrong with me.”

“Only archangels can do that—give their blood to humans. And they usually just give a drop or two for healing. Humans can’t take any more than that without losing their minds.” He frowned. “But you aren’t human, and it looks like she gave you more than that—”

“Wait. ‘She.’ There are only two archangels who appear as women, right? At least, with any regularity,” she added.

“Gabriel and Azrael.” Gideon smirked. “And Azrael is _not_ the guardian angel type.

“So, I’m half big-ass powerful demon with archangel blood in me.” Hope’s lip curled as she rolled her eyes. “That’s awesome. So much for wanting to be normal.” She sighed. “I guess this explains why my mom kept me on such a tight leash.”

“Hope,” Gideon turned to face her, grasping her hands. “You are so far from normal, normal is not even a line on the horizon for you. It’s a dot. In space.” He smiled at her, shrugging. Hope returned it—maybe she was getting used to the idea of being a freak, or maybe Gideon made it seem not so bad, but she didn’t feel as different, as apart from everything as she had before. She was even starting to feel like she lived in her own skin again. She let him go, stacking the grimoire and journals in a pile, then braced her arm on the chair behind her to stand.

“I guess we need to show these to Raphael.”

Gideon nodded, absently. He was counting something on his fingers; he stood once he was done, facing her. “If you were conceived on May 1, your birthday would be at the end of January. Right about now, actually.”

“It’s today,” she whispered, thinking of all that had happened: the morning with Seth, then the divorce papers, and now—this. “It’s certainly been the weirdest birthday I’ve had.”

“C’mon.” Gideon grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the hallway door. “Let’s show this stuff to Raphael. Then we can come back here and get smashed.” Hope laughed out loud, following him. “Oh, and happy birthday.”

#

“Ugh.” Hope stumbled into the kitchen the following morning, bleary-eyed, wearing the same clothes as the day before. Bright sunlight streamed in from the window above the sink, bathing the island with so much of it that Hope had to shield her eyes with her hand. She slowly made her way over to the coffee maker, fumbling with the pot and nearly dropping the filter on the floor. Finally, she pushed the button and sat at the island, her back to the window, covering her eyes with her hands.

“Good morning!” She heard the door open, then footsteps on the tile floor. They stopped right beside her. “You look a bit rough around the edges.” Hope turned toward the voice, peeking out from behind her fingers. Gideon stood beside her, his damp golden hair curling at his neck, his eyes amused, with just a hint of sympathy. He didn’t look hungover. At all.

“Why do you look so good? Also, I hate you.” She folded her arms on the counter, resting her head on them. Gideon chuckled as he walked around her to pour their coffee. A moment later, he set her mug on the table, bouncing onto the seat beside her. Hope lifted her head, wrapping her hands around the cup.

“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” He waved his hand as if to toss his hair over his shoulder. Hope snorted, taking a large gulp of coffee. It was too hot and it burned her tongue but she didn’t care. “Seriously, Hope, you’re…whatever you are. You _have_ healing abilities. Just, you know, use them on yourself.” She snapped her head around to face him, hitching her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Wait, you can do that?”

“Uh, yeah? You’ve never tried it before?” He looked genuinely surprised. Hope began to shake her head, but then a thought occurred to her, making her giggle.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit…masturbatory to you?” Gideon choked on his coffee as he burst out laughing. Hope joined him; it took a while until she felt like she could breathe again. He was still chuckling as he got up to refill his cup.

“I think,” said Gideon, returning to the barstool beside her, “that wasn’t the meaning of the expression ‘man, heal thyself,’ but hey, you do you.” Hope snorted but managed to keep her composure. “All joking aside, what did you do when you got hurt?” he asked. Hope set her cup down, shrugging.

“Just let it heal on its own. I’ve got some pretty great scars.” She reached over, pulling up the leg of her jeans until a long horizontal scar was visible, just below her knee. “See? I tried to shave my legs. When I was three.” Then she leaned forward, pointing at a spot just above her eyebrow. “Tripped over a tree root when I was running. Smacked right into the pavement.”

“Oh, I have scars.” Gideon stood in front of her, lifting his t-shirt—blue this time, a shade just darker than his eyes—pointing at a long, wicked looking line of pale tissue, running from the middle of his rib cage near his back and crossing his side before disappearing down the waist of his black jeans. “This one damn near took me out. If Glenda hadn’t been there—”

“Your training partner, right?” Hope pulled her pantleg back down. When he didn’t answer, she straightened. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes distant. He stood there for a long time, not moving. Finally, she reached for his hand, and he started as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Sorry. Yes.” He turned to smile at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “She was my training partner. And…a good friend. I—I miss her.” Hope turned him toward her, letting his hand go to wrap her arms around his waist. He embraced her as well, resting the side of his cheek on her head. When he finally released her, still blinking back tears, he was smiling as he cleared his throat.

“Here,” he said, his voice thick as he slid his hands up to her shoulders. “This is a freebie.” He closed his eyes and before long, Hope could feel warmth spreading down her arms and back, the pounding in her head subsiding. When he was done, he opened his eyes, then gave her a wink. “The next one’ll cost ya.”

#

Seth was going crazy.

Hope didn’t return last night. He knew she was probably just busy, going through whatever was in that box, but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying that something happened to her. When he tried to sleep, images of her being captured, tortured, even killed by Lucifer wouldn’t stop replaying in his head, over and over again until he started to wonder if he was the one being tortured.

Eventually, he turned on the TV, looking through Hope’s list on Netflix. _Gilmore Girls_ , _The Umbrella Academy_ , _Riverdale_. She had the taste of a bloody teenager. Still, the noise of the television gave him something else to focus on, letting him fall into a fitful sleep just as the night sky behind the blinds began to fade into dawn.

The harsh noise of the buzzer woke him sometime in the early afternoon. He sat up, rubbing his eyes; it took him several seconds to figure out what it was. Once he did, he stumbled up, staggering to the unit near the door, pushing the button to talk.

“Hello?” No reply. He rolled his eyes—he’d never used one of these things before—then pushed and _held_ the button while he spoke. “Hello?” Still no answer. He shrugged, heading back into the living room, when it buzzed again. “Hello?” he said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“I have a package for…Hope Grayson?”

Seth sighed. “Can you leave it outside? I’m…not dressed.” He was probably being too cautious. But he didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I need a signature.” Apprehension snaked up his spine. There was something about the way the person said it, something he couldn’t quite identify.

But he didn’t live for nearly a millennium without learning to trust his gut.

Not bothering to reply, he walked to the door, checking the deadbolt was closed, reaching up to slide the long u-shaped arm of the security guard lock over the hook at the top of the door.

The second it was in place someone began to pound on the door. Seth backed up, his gut clenching—his first impulse was to throw open the door and take down whoever, or whatever was on the other side. But then he remembered the deadbolt was still warded. No lesser demon would be able to withstand the pain long enough to turn it. Silently cursing himself for even answering the buzzer at all, for confirming he was here, he backed away, turning to the balcony.

He couldn’t stay here, even if the goons Lucifer sent couldn’t get to him. If they were still here when Hope returned, because she would be vulnerable, teleporting into the hall—

It might work. Especially since whatever had been sent was still banging on the door. He grabbed his jacket and boots, racing to the balcony, leaning forward to see if anyone—demonic or not—was around. No one in sight.

He slid on his boots, not bothering to tie them, climbing up on the railing, still scanning for any sign of movement. Bracing himself, he jumped, landing lightly on the grass below, swiveling his head back and forth.

He was safe. But not for long. Not if he didn’t get out of here.

But where the hell to go now? He thought about it as headed to the street, putting on his jacket—it was just starting to drizzle.

Then the world went black.

#

“Here. You’re aiming too low.” Gideon had decided, as a treat—or his idea of one, anyway—to teach Hope some archery. Apparently, Raphael had told him she’d always wanted to learn. They probably should’ve been doing something more useful, like practicing with the throwing knives or angel blades, but as he said to her, just before they entered the training room, “Thank fuck it’s Friday.” She’d laughed at that, surprised.

“I didn’t even think you knew how to swear.”

“I save it,” he’d said, one eyebrow cocked, “for when it’s truly needed.”

But now she stood about a foot away from the weapons cabinet, bow in hand, scowling at the practice dummy, feeling damp wisps of hair clinging to her cheeks. A cluster of arrows stuck out from the wall in front of her, well below the target on its chest. Gideon crossed the room to pull the arrows out, sliding them into the quiver over his shoulder, then stood beside her, guiding the bow higher.

“There. Like that.” He released her to nock an arrow, then replaced his hands over hers, leaning closer to sight along to the target, making minute adjustments. “Okay. Now.” He slid his hands free so she could let the arrow fly—it sailed smoothly across the room, landing just below the center of the target.

“I did it!” she squealed, feeling triumphant. Then frowned. “Well, you did it.” She shouldered her hair out of her flushed and sweaty face. “I didn’t think this would be so hard. It’s way easier in _Breath of the Wild_ ,” she joked. Gideon snorted, rolling his eyes as he walked over to retrieve the arrow.

“Of course it’s easier when you’re just pushing buttons.” He pulled the arrow from the target, walking back, hand outstretched. Hope handed him the bow, stepping aside. Gideon took her place, his stance steady but relaxed.

“It’s not just pushing buttons. You have to aim the controller,” she finished lamely. With almost blinding speed, he plucked an arrow from the quiver, nocking and loosing it in one smooth motion, over and over, each arrow landing in the center of the target—some bouncing off others already there—until the quiver was empty. “Jesus Christ. Now you’re just showing off.”

“A little bit.” Gideon smirked as he returned once more to the target to retrieve the arrows. “I’ve also had years of practice.”

“I don’t exactly have years,” Hope muttered.

“No, but you have something I don’t.” He had an odd expression on his face as he walked back to her; Hope couldn’t tell if he was still joking or not.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Demon blood.” His expression was dead-serious now, although she could see a slight twinkle in his eyes. “It makes you stronger, more powerful. Maybe even more agile than me—if that’s possible.” He handed her the bow again, sliding the quiver off his shoulder and onto hers. His eyes darkened to a deep cobalt as he held her gaze. “Use it.”

“Are you going to get all Yoda with me, now?” she asked, using a joke to cover up her discomfort. “‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”

He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what it takes.” He stood directly behind Hope, just out of the way of the bow. “I know it’s hard because this is new to you but try to relax. Pretend you do this all the time. Loosen your hands on the bow. Nock the arrow—that’s it. Now sight along it, see where it’s going. Just a little higher, maybe. Good. Now let it fly.” Hope loosed the arrow—it landed square in the middle of the target. “Don’t lose focus. Do it again.” She did. “Again.” Over and over he commanded her, until the quiver was empty once more. Not all the arrows landed in the center, but at least they were in the target. Hope looked at the wall, one side of her mouth lifting in a reluctant smile.

“Well, fuck me.” She said, impressed with herself.

“Perhaps another time.” Both Gideon and Hope spun at the voice behind them. Raphael stood in the doorway, a troubled expression on his face. “You need to return to your apartment immediately.” Hope gave him a quizzical look, dropping the bow to her side. “I have tried to contact Samael, but he has not answered.”


	20. The Perfect Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope slowly closed her eyes, bowing her head. She couldn’t pretend Lucifer didn’t have Seth. Not now. She took a deep breath then raised her head to Gideon, giving him a hard look as she sheathed her own blade.  
> “We have to get him back. Now.”  
> Gideon threw his hands up. “It’s a trap. You know that.”  
> “Of course I know!” she cried. “But we can’t leave him there!” She sighed, clenching her hands into fists, not wanting to admit, even to herself, why that was not an option. Why she had to get to him, to get him out, even if meant doing exactly what Lucifer wanted. Gideon grabbed her wrists, leaning into her, forcing her to fix her eyes on his. She expected exasperation on his face. Instead, there was understanding. And just the merest hint of amusement.  
> “And why is that?” he asked.  
> “Because—” she started. Why couldn’t she say it? “Because it wouldn’t be right,” she finished, lamely.  
> “No.” He gripped her wrists more tightly. “That’s not it.” He pulled her closer, his eyes boring into hers as if he could wrest the truth from them alone. “Tell me why. The real reason why. And I’ll help you do it,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope and Gideon figure out Seth's been taken, then go to Gabriel for help.  
> Seth and Lucifer have a...chat.  
> And then Lucifer and Uriel have a much more productive one.

“The one time we _want_ to end up on the roof,” Hope muttered once she and Gideon landed on top of her apartment building. They had no idea how many demons were watching her place. Better to use the advantage of height, where they were less likely to be seen.

It was drizzling but the sky was clear in the distance, the late afternoon sun just beginning to set with streaks of orange, pink, and pale violet.

“Huh?” Gideon gave her a brief quizzical glace before crouching, heading to the side nearest the building entrance, peering over the ledge.

“Oh, nothing. Just when it comes to teleporting, I’ve just had some…problems with accuracy,” she said, but Gideon wasn’t listening. She followed him, turning to look at the main entrance, then along the path to the street.

It was deserted.

“It looks clear,” she said.

“Yeah.” Gideon frowned. “That’s not good, though. If Samael was taken on Lucifer’s command, he wouldn’t need anyone to watch your place. Lucifer knows you’ll go to him.”

“Okay, but we don’t even know if he’s been taken.” She didn’t want to consider it, not yet. Because she didn’t know if there would be any way to get him back. Not without putting herself in Lucifer’s path.

She turned, heading for the access door. “He told me Lucifer couldn’t summon him at my place because of the wards. Maybe they were keeping Raphael out as well.”

“Yeah. Maybe” He didn’t sound convinced. Or convincing. But he followed her through the door and down the two flights of stairs to her floor.

Once they reached the hall door, he touched her arm, drawing out his angel blade, silently prompting her to draw her own. She slowly turned the door handle, inching it open. The door to her apartment was right beside them, unguarded. Hope scanned the entry and the other hallway, but they were both empty.

She approached her door. It didn’t _look_ like it had been tampered with. Hope felt her entire body slump in relief.

“Look, there’s no sign anyone broke in so Seth must still be inside. Unless he left. Which would be stupid.” She sheathed her blade again, digging in her jacket pocket for her keys, unlocking the deadbolt which meant he _must_ still be inside since he didn’t have keys. But she could only get the door open a couple of inches before it jerked to a halt, startling her.

“What—oh, crap.” She glanced up to see the security guard lock was engaged, and a cold stab of fear pricked her gut. “He wouldn’t have used it for no reason. Someone was trying to get in. Or lure him out.” She leaned against the doorjamb, her head on her arm. “They must have succeeded—he would have heard us by now if he was still here.” She turned to glance at Gideon, confused. “But how did he get out with all the locks on? And how do we get back in?”

“Here.” Gideon shouldered her aside, grabbing the slide bar. He pulled down on the metal, hard, widening the loop enough to slide it over the ball at the end of the hook, freeing the door. “They could still be inside and locked the doors to trick us,” he said, pulling her behind him, angel blade ready.

Hope rolled her eyes as she followed. That seemed a bit elaborate, even for a demon. Still, she pulled her blade out. Again. Gideon crept through the kitchen to the living room while Hope turned toward the bedroom.

No one was here.

“I think I know how Seth got out,” she said softly, pointing at the open balcony door; one of the curtains had been blown outside, swaying in the wind. “Goddamn it. He must have jumped.”

Gideon joined her, frowning as he sheathed his blade and walked onto the balcony, peering down. “And then was jumped. The grass down there is trampled.”

Hope slowly closed her eyes, bowing her head. She couldn’t pretend Lucifer didn’t have him. Not now. She took a deep breath then raised her head to Gideon, giving him a hard look as she sheathed her own blade.

“We have to get him back. Now.”

Gideon threw his hands up. “And how exactly do you propose to do that? You can’t just teleport to Hell unnoticed.” He sighed, giving her a resigned look as he dropped his arms back down. “It’s a trap. You _know_ that.”

“Of course I know!” she cried. “But we can’t leave him there!” She sighed, clenching her hands into fists, not wanting to admit, even to herself, why that was not an option. Why she had to get to him, to get him out, even if meant doing exactly what Lucifer wanted. Gideon grabbed her wrists, leaning into her, forcing her to fix her eyes on his. She expected exasperation on his face. Instead, there was understanding. And just the merest hint of amusement.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because—” she started. Why couldn’t she say it? “Because it wouldn’t be right,” she finished, lamely.

“No.” He gripped her wrists more tightly. “That’s not it.” He pulled her closer, his eyes boring into hers as if he could wrest the truth from them alone. “Tell me why. The real reason why. And I’ll help you do it,” he said softly.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” Hope asked, deflecting. She wanted to look away, to avoid the truth she saw on Gideon’s face. But she couldn’t. Couldn’t shake the sorrow she saw in his eyes, darkened to the colour of the early nighttime sky behind him.

“I didn’t get to save the one I love. But maybe you will.”

#

Seth awoke to the thud of a heavy door shutting in the distance. He had no idea how long he’d been here, how he got here, or even _where_ he was, but it was cold, dark, and dank. His arms ached—they were chained above his head. He tugged at the metal, trying to lower his arms. The chains held fast.

He pulled himself up to his knees, which let him lower his arms a bit. Then cautiously, he slid his foot to the side. His ankles were shackled but not tightly—he had free range of movement. Lifting his head, shaking his lank, damp hair out of his face, he tried to look around, but it was too dark.

Until he made out a faint, shifting light, slowly growing brighter. Some sort of flashlight or lantern.

He was in a dungeon, and what he could make of his cell in the dim light was that it was stone. And bare. It stank of mold, old sweat, and—something sharper.

Fear.

He pulled harder at the chains—his angelic strength should have been able to free him from any human bondage. Still nothing. Swearing softly under his breath, he realized exactly where he was. Although he'd always been on the other side of the cell.

Until now.

Temporarily blinded, he shut his eyes as the lantern came into full view. He heard a lock click, then a screech as the rusty door of his cell swung open. He cracked his eyes open again, letting them adjust to the light. The chains rattled as he shifted, trying to gain leverage.

“Hope?” He squinted at her, hardly believing his eyes. She flashed him a brief worried smile, dropping the lantern lower to see him better. The only feature he could make out clearly was her hair, reflecting the light like a halo around her shadowed face.

“Seth!” She stepped closer, placing the lantern on the floor beside her, dropping to her knees. “I can’t believe I found you!” She rubbed her hands along his arms; though they did little to ease the cold and stiffness in his limbs, he still reveled in her touch.

“How did you—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She placed a finger on his lips. “I’m going to get you out of here.” She stood, assessing the chains holding his arms in place. Now that the cell was brighter, he could see the ring hanging from the ceiling above. Saw the chains looping through it, attaching to the wall just to the left of the cell door. Saw where his leg chains attached below.

She followed the chains, then walked over and grasped them in both hands, planting her feet on the stone floor and jerking them as hard as she could. They gave way, Seth’s arms nerveless as they dropped, the thick metal clattering against the stone. Then she came back and did the same to the shackles around his ankles, breaking them apart and tossing them aside with a metallic clank.

She eased him up to stand, his legs feeling weak—but at least they held his weight. She edged him toward the door, slowly, struggling to carry his near-dead weight, his arm slung around her shoulder. Once they were in the corridor, he slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged.

“I—can’t,” he gasped. He’d never felt so weak, so helpless in his very long life. The length of the corridor seemed like a marathon, an impossible distance to cover. He closed his eyes, all his focus on staying upright. Then felt a warmth on his chest, a light brighter than the lantern flaring against his eyelids. She was healing him—the stiffness and pain of his muscles eased, his breathing becoming steadier, more even.

He opened his eyes. She was only a breath away from him, eyes still closed, hand still pressed to his skin.

“Better?” she asked. He nodded. “Good,” she said, her lips brushing his.

But something was wrong.

She felt _wrong_. He tore his face away, his gut twisting with disgust. And realization.

This wasn’t Hope. It was Lucifer.

“Not expecting me, Samael?”

Seth opened his eyes and saw Lucifer’s eyes looking at him, not Hope’s, a depthless, endless black.

“Oh brother, you do wound me.” Lucifer cupped Seth’s chin, forcing Seth to face him, stepping back to stand upright as he transformed. He towered over Seth in his angelic form—or what remained of it after he’d been cast out, his slender, wiry frame corded with muscle, his skin and hair so white, so pale—more an absence of color than a color itself. What remained of his wings—a burnt-looking skeleton frame of hollow bone—jutted over his shoulders. It had been a long time since Seth had seem him like this, long enough that he’d forgotten how unsettling it was.

Lucifer’s dark eyes blazed with barely restrained fury. “I admit it’s been a long time since I’ve been to these dungeons. Far too long. But for my brother and first lieutenant, it was the least I could do. _You deserve it_.”

Tight, visceral terror twisted Seth’s insides. He turned his head, looking down the narrow hallway toward the door at the end. Now that he was healed, he might just be fast enough to sprint for it. He braced himself, then sprung forward, but he only managed a couple of steps before he felt the tug of the chains at his wrists, whipping him around, making him lose his footing. Lucifer pulled, hard, forcing Seth to stagger back up to his feet. He towed Seth back into the cell and Seth barely got through the door before Lucifer looped the chains around the ring again.

Lucifer heaved at them as he strode to the far corner of the cell, forcing Seth to the center, arms over his head once more. Then Lucifer attached the chains to another ring, hanging the lantern by it, casting the whole cell in a soft glow.

“I have not been deceived in a very, very long time,” Lucifer said quietly, his boots silent on the stone floor. “But you—you surprised me. My second-in-command. My brother. I loved you. Trusted you. Sent _you_ to keep an eye on the girl—I could have sent any one of my pets. But I suspected she was special. That perhaps she could be useful. And I thought I could rely on you to bring her to me. Then I learned—not by you, I’m dismayed to say—that my own Asmodeus whelped her. Still I gave you the benefit of the doubt, trusted you to give me…something.” Lucifer stopped pacing, leaning closer, his black eyes inches from Seth’s. “But you were working for Raphael—for them—the entire time,” he hissed.

The demon, the one in Chris’s body—it must have been following him, watching him. Watching them. It must have seen him with the others in Hope’s apartment. Must have told Lucifer about the failed exorcism.

Seth dropped his head as if ashamed, revealing nothing. Buying time,

He felt Lucifer lean into him, taking a long, drawn breath, scenting him. Then pull back, Seth opening his eyes to see Lucifer smiling, his ashen lips curving, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light.

Lucifer smiling was never a good thing.

“I can smell her on you. Not just on your skin, but deep, in your very pores.” Seth held Lucifer’s piercing gaze, willing his face to remain impassive, emotionless.

He realized he failed when Lucifer’s pale eyebrows lifted.

“You’re in love with her.” Swift as lightning, he jerked back, pacing once more, his hands clasped behind his back as he slunk across the cell, a predator toying with his prey.

“It is my turn to make a confession,” he said, although Seth had confessed nothing. “I was going to find out exactly what you had told our siblings about my plans. By any means necessary. And, to repay your betrayal, I was going to let you spend the rest of your immortal life here to rot. But luckily for you, you’re still useful to me.” He paused, drawing out a long coil of steel, the lead tip gleaming in the lantern light. “As bait.”

Seth was very familiar with that whip but had never been on the receiving end of it. Until now, apparently.

“That half-breed bitch got away from me, somehow found a loophole in our bargain. I can’t use it to control her. But I can use you. You’re the spark that will light up that little stick of dynamite like the Fourth of July. Once she realizes you’re gone, she’ll come looking for you. And then I’ll _own_ her.” His smile was sharp and cruel, his eyes piercing Seth’s. “Oh, yes. She’s a brave little toaster. She’ll go through Hell to find you.”

“She won’t. She hasn’t forgiven me for lying to her about her father,” Seth whispered. It was only partly true—he didn’t know if she had truly forgiven him or not, no matter what she said. But Lucifer was right. Once she realized he was missing, she would look everywhere. And she would find him here.

It was the perfect trap.

He twisted his head, avoiding Lucifer’s eyes. Trying to prevent him from seeing the terror that must be written all over his face.

“Oh, but she will. Do you know why?” Lucifer stalked toward him, loosening the whip, lazily swishing the end back and forth. “I saw how she looked at you. I know infatuation when I see it. It’s touching, how the heroine will come looking for her hero in distress.” He came closer, leaning in until his face was only inches away, close enough that Seth could feel his breath fan over his face. “And don’t bother trying to pretend you don’t feel the same, Samael. That you didn’t start to care for someone, maybe for the first time since you joined me.” He leaned in further. “Now, you have something to fear,” he said against Seth’s lips before he pulled back.

Seth fought a rush of revulsion until it was replaced by an emotion he hadn’t experienced in decades. Centuries.

Guilt.

Not at his betrayal, but that he’d put Hope in even more danger. That night in Paris—Lucifer wasn’t just testing Hope, testing her abilities, testing her willingness to obey. Lucifer had been testing _him_ , giving him one last chance to prove his loyalty.

Seth failed the moment he helped her get away. And now she was going to pay for it.

Seth heard the crack of the whip, millimeters from his head. “You finally have something to be afraid of because now you have something to lose.” Lucifer loosed another blow, this time hitting the wall behind Seth, the lash grazing his cheek, drawing blood.

“You don’t scare me,” Seth bluffed, rubbing his cheek on his shoulder.

“You’re not paying attention.” Lucifer flicked the whip, this one striking Seth’s bare feet—he flinched, resisting the urge to kick them up. “I don’t want you to be afraid of what I’ll do to you. I want you to be _terrified_ of what I’ll do to _her_.”

He struck again, against the back of Seth’s knees this time—it _burned_ , making his legs crumple but his knees barely grazed the stone floor, the tension from the chains holding him up. “She will find you here, wounded.” Lucifer cracked the whip again, pain searing along Seth’s upper arm, warm blood sliding toward his armpit. “Broken.”

Seth struggled but managed to regain his footing, staring Lucifer down.

“She will find you,” Lucifer breathed, “and she will agree to whatever I want, bargain or no. Even if I want to use her as a weapon to raze Heaven and Earth to dust. She’ll do it. As long as I let you go.”

“No.”

Lucifer lashed Seth again, from shoulder to hip, scorching his skin—he would’ve doubled over if he could. Still, he kept his jaw clamped shut, not letting a single cry of pain escape. It was the only willful thing he could do, the only way he could resist. He knew it would infuriate Lucifer, would drive him to keep going until he got…something.

But Seth couldn’t let him have it.

“Of course, this could all end right here.” Lucifer dropped the whip, stepping forward, cupping Seth’s face in his hands, his dark eyes glittering as he leaned in again. “Return to _me_. Bring her to me. Use her. Use how she feels about you.” He pressed his lips against Seth’s once more. “Bring the girl to me, and all is forgiven.” He drew back, his smile as cold and serpentine as the whip he’d just wielded. “You can even have her—once I’m done with her.”

“No.” Seth reared back, turning his head, waiting for another lash from the whip.

But it never came.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed in the dim light when Seth opened his again.

“Very well.” Slowly, deliberately, Lucifer coiled the whip, attaching it to his belt. “It’s a good thing I’m patient.” He strolled back to the door, wrenching it open, the hinges groaning. “I can wait until she comes looking for you. And then we shall find out how delicious _her_ screams of pain are.”

The door slammed shut.

#

“Okay, but why Gabriel?” asked Hope, as she and Gideon crossed the lobby of the Hall of Knowledge, surrounded by softly glowing pink walls.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” They headed for the desk at the other end, which seemed deserted at first, but then an angel materialized as if from nowhere. They looked nearly identical to Alexi, but with long, straight, chestnut hair and a less friendly, more arrogant expression on their face. They smiled blandly at their approach. “Is Gabriel in? It’s important,” Gideon said, not meeting their smile.

“I believe she might be in a meeting,” they replied, pulling a slip of pink paper from a stack on the desk. “I’d be happy to leave her a message, though.”

Gideon reached across the desk, just managing to press the intercom button before the angel swatted his hand away.

“Yes? Barbiel, what is it?”

“It’s Gideon,” he said before the angel could speak. “With Hope. We need to speak with you. Now.”

“I’m so sorry, Gabby, they just—” Barbiel began, but Gabriel cut them off.

“It’s okay,” she sighed, “let them in.” Barbiel rose, intending to lead them to the office, but Gideon grasped Hope’s wrist and ducked around the desk, striding past the angel, who looked murderous.

“We know where to go. Thanks, Barbie.” Gideon dropped them a wink and a sardonic smile as he opened the door to Gabriel’s office, while Barbiel—clearly not happy to be called ‘Barbie’—glared at them both.

They found Gabriel sitting at her desk, a large, thick, white-leather-bound book open in front of her. She folded her arms over it, a pleasant—but surprised—look on her face. She had the most remarkable eyes; they were silver-blue, almost like Seth’s but paler, nearly the colour of ice. Her thick brown curls hung past her shoulders, and she wore a lilac sweater under a set of overalls.

“We need you to sneak us into Hell,” Gideon announced without preamble, sinking into a pink leather chair on their side of the desk. Hope dropped into the other one, glancing over at him before turning to Gabriel, who quickly covered her confused expression with a warm smile.

“You must be Hope,” she said, extending a hand. Hope reached across the desk, intending to shake Gabriel’s hand; instead, Gabriel grasped her fingers, curling them over her own. “I was wondering if I was ever going to meet you.”

“Okay, now that we’ve observed all the pleasantries,” Gideon began impatiently, “do you have a way in or not?” Gabriel turned to him, narrowing her eyes slightly, her smile fading.

“Why don’t you start by explaining why you need to go there,” she said.

Hope took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s Seth—Samael. He’s been working with Raphael—”

“I know. And with me too. Did something happen to him?” As briefly as she could, leaving out all but the most important details, Hope explained about Chris, and the meeting with Lucifer, and Seth’s disappearance, Gabriel’s face growing more alarmed as Hope went on. Once Hope finished speaking, Gabriel squeezed Hope’s hand once, pulling her own away, tenting her fingers together on the desk. She looked to be considering something for what felt like a long time, tapping her fingers together, gazing distantly at the door. Finally, she nodded, focusing on Hope and Gideon once more.

“I know of a portal. I’m not sure you’ll be able to use it, though. Only those with demonic blood can pass through.” She frowned. “I have someone here who might be able to get you through, though.”

“You do?” asked Hope, surprised, cutting off what Gideon was about to say.

“Yes,” Gabriel sighed, her eyes guarded. “We sometimes…have demons here. We…keep them—”

“We don’t need to use a demon,” Gideon interrupted, glancing over at Hope. “We can use Hope.”

Gabriel’s brows shot up so high they nearly reached her hairline.

“I guess Raphael hasn’t been talking about me, huh?” Hope gave her a brief rundown of what she found out from reading her mother’s journals. As she got to the part about her mother’s guardian angel giving her the blood, she watched Gabriel’s face closely, but she looked genuinely surprised. Then again, maybe she just didn’t want to give herself away—

“My mom said her guardian angel was a woman—was it you?” Hope asked bluntly. Might as well get to the truth.

Gabriel blinked, clearly even more surprised to be asked. “No, it wasn’t me.” She angled her head to the side, amusement blooming across her face. “It must have been Azrael. But she never—”

“Oh, clearly she did.” Gideon interrupted, his own face breaking out in a slow smile. “She’s going to be _pissed_ that we found out.”

Hope was confused; she looked at them both, not sure why they thought the idea was so funny.

Gideon turned to her, his lips twitching. “Azrael never gets involved in human stuff. She says it could disrupt the balance between life and death.” He raised his eyebrows as another thought must have hit him. “But the one time she interfered she made _you_. The one most likely to mess that balance right up.” He whistled slowly. “If you get the chance to ask her about it, promise me that you’ll let me be there.”

Hope wasn’t crazy about the implication that she could be responsible for messing up the cosmic order of things, let alone how Azrael would react once she learned. Even though Hope hadn’t met her yet, she seemed intimidating as, well, Hell. Still she couldn’t help but smile at the absolutely shit-eating grin on Gideon’s face. “Deal.”

Gabriel rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “Splendid. And now that we’ve figured out just how to prank my sister with her own creation, maybe we can get back to getting you two into Hell.” She stood, circling her desk and heading for the door.

Hope and Gideon followed, both their smiles fading at the prospect of literally breaking into Hell. Gideon gave her a glance that was probably meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t quite land.

The hand he tucked around her own did a better job.

#

Uriel nervously glanced around Lucifer’s office, wishing they’d met at the old church again. That place was neutral ground at least, on Earth, between Heaven and Hell. This was Lucifer’s domain, where he was in charge. And he clearly wanted to make sure Uriel knew it.

“Come in, brother,” Lucifer said softly, pointing to a black leather sofa to Uriel’s left as he leaned back against his cherry wood desk, his hands loosely curled around the edge. Uriel kept his eyes on Lucifer as he walked over, perching at the very edge of the sofa, sitting on his hands to keep them from shaking.

Lucifer did not look angry. In fact, he looked almost amused as he ran his eyes up and down Uriel. But Uriel wasn’t fooled; he wouldn’t have been summoned if he hadn’t displeased him.

“Do you know why I asked to meet with you?” Lucifer’s lips lifted into smile, sharp as a razor’s edge. Then it hardened, his black eyes glittering as he stared Uriel down, Uriel fighting the urge to shrink back. Of course Uriel knew why he was here. He hadn’t done anything to help Lucifer since he told him about the Nephilim. And Lucifer had noticed.

“ _You_ promised to help _me_ , not the other way around,” Lucifer said softly, echoing Uriel’s thoughts. “But you have not delivered.” He stalked over to Uriel, placing his hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging painfully, making Uriel flinch. “I haven’t heard from you. In days.” Lucifer released him, pacing away, his shoes clicking against the hardwood of the floor, his back rigid.

Uriel closed his eyes, trying to decide what to say. How much to say. Then he sighed, looking over Lucifer’s shoulder. “I have…information about something that might be of use to you. A way to perhaps…get you what you want without having to wage a war,” Uriel said, carefully choosing his words. He braced himself, his fingers going numb beneath his legs. He brought them to rest beside him, resisting the urge to shake them out.

“And why wouldn’t I want a war?” Lucifer mused, edging closer to Uriel. “I do love chaos.”

“There’s—” Uriel stammered, rising and standing behind the back of the sofa, trying to create a barrier between him and Lucifer. “There’s a weapon—”

“What kind of weapon?” Lucifer asked, smiling blandly. “I mean, besides the girl. And she’s being…uncooperative.”

Uriel felt a stab of fear, knowing how angry Lucifer was about to become.

“Gloria.”

“But that’s dad’s sword,” Lucifer said, furrowing his brow, narrowing his eyes at Uriel, who retreated toward the door, dropping his gaze.

“Yes.” Uriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He gave it to Michael when he left.”

“He did _what_?” Lucifer roared. “But I’m the eldest! That sword should’ve gone to me!” he shouted, striding toward Uriel. “Why did you not tell me this until now?” His hands clenched like claws, his expression thunderous. Then he lunged, seizing the front of Uriel’s shirt, yanking him closer, until their faces were millimetres away, Lucifer’s dark eyes blazing.

For a terrifying moment, Uriel wondered if Lucifer was going to strike him dead right there. Then Lucifer seemed to visibly calm himself, releasing Uriel, dropping his hands to his sides, an icy smile on his lips once more.

“But of course. You hoped to find a way to steal it for yourself. You intended to use my impending attack to distract Michael. Then use the sword against me.” There was an odd expression on his face—it looked like a begrudging respect. “So why tell me about it now?”

Uriel considered what to say, how much to reveal. “I have come to understand I do not have the…stomach for leadership,” he said. Lucifer raised one eyebrow, inviting Uriel to explain further. But there was no way he was going to tell Lucifer why he’d changed his mind. That he’d realized, even with Gloria at his back, he’d never hold Heaven on his own.

With Lucifer gone, Uriel had become the black sheep of the family. Even if he was been able to defeat Lucifer on his own, his siblings wouldn’t rally to his side. Not if he stole the sword from under Michael’s nose.

Uriel kept his silence, but he also met Lucifer’s piercing stare. Barely.

“Well, then, I suppose our original bargain still stands,” Lucifer said, pacing away from Uriel.

Uriel fought the urge to slump in relief. He was safe—for now. And had chosen the right side.

“I believe we have some planning to do.”


	21. It’ll Hurt Like a Son of a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My daughter.” His voice was deep, rougher than she expected. “My master said you were a live one, perhaps with more bravado than sense.” He raised his pudgy, pasty hands to his shoulders in a mockery of surrender. “I haven’t come here to harm you—I don’t even carry a weapon. I’ve come to bring you home.”  
> “You can’t possibly think I’d go anywhere with you.” She glared at him, watching Gideon from the corner of her eye. He stood on top of the desk now, bow in hand, arrow nocked, aimed at the demon’s heart. Hope resisted the urge to meet his eyes, not wanting Asmodeus to notice where she was looking.  
> “Not willingly, perhaps,” Asmodeus said, stepping away from Hope and the angel blade in her hand. “At least, not without a bargain.”  
> “Lucifer already made me a bargain.” She sneered at the last word, changing course slightly so she circled around him, forcing his retreat toward the desk. “Ask him how well that worked out for him.”  
> “He decided you needed an added incentive.” Asmodeus took another step back, lowering his hands. “Your boyfriend is alive. And relatively unharmed,” he said, shrugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a family reunion--of sorts.  
> Hope meets the Archangel of Death.  
> Then she and Gideon drink and have feels about it.

“Wait here,” Gideon ordered, pointing to the rail opposite the training room door. “I’ll be right out.” Hope pressed against the rail, peering down into the lobby. She reached absently at her hip; the angel blade was still there—it always was now. It wouldn’t be enough, though. If they were going to break into Hell, they needed to be armed. To the teeth.

Hope snorted, resisting the insane urge to laugh out loud at the mere thought of busting into Hell, weapons drawn, facing a horde of demons—it sounded more like a _Dungeons and Dragons_ campaign than her life now. If someone had told her three weeks ago she would be standing in _Heaven_ , waiting for some half-angel, half-human hybrid to bring her a belt full of weapons so she could rescue another half- _arch_ angel, half-human hybrid whom she was—well, she would have signed the paperwork committing them to the psych ward herself. Not that she didn’t half-wonder if she belonged there. First, she discovered she was half-angel, then half-demon, then a crazy mixture of both. And she’d barely had time to process any of it before she got thrown right into the next fresh batch of fuckery.

Thank God—or maybe Raphael—for Gideon.

She’d never trusted anyone so thoroughly, so fast. He got her. Got all this. Being with him was like having a brother only better, because she didn’t have to explain anything. He just—knew. And he was just enough of a smartass that—

A high-pitched scream, coming from the other end of the lobby. Hope leaned as far forward as she could, her chest pressed against the rail, scanning the floor below her, looking for the source.

Then she saw it. Or rather, him. Across the lobby from her. He looked ordinary enough, but he was too tall. And bald, with a small fringe of gray hair stretching from one ear to the other, wearing a cheap, ill-fitting light grey polyester suit—it stretched too tight around the back and was too short for his legs.

He towered over one of the angels as he picked them up—effortlessly, like they weighed nothing—and tossed them against the wall, their body crumpling to the floor, motionless. Hope bounded to the training room door, throwing it open.

“Gideon!” she shouted, not waiting for him to answer before she dashed back to the rail. She grabbed it with one hand, vaulting over it, her entire body singing with the impact when she landed. She raised her head, seeing the elevator slide up from the corner of her eye.

“Asmodeus,” she breathed once the man—no, the demon—turned to look at her. She would know those unnaturally green eyes anywhere. Had seen them everyday in the mirror for the last thirty years.

He straightened, the polyester jacket straining against his belly as he gave her a razor-sharp smile that sliced down her spine. He appeared no more threatening than a low-budget insurance salesman. But she could feel the searing power surrounding him, making her heart pound. Still, her head felt clear as she focused on his face, narrowing her eyes, wiping her sweaty hands along her jeans so she could grip her angel blade as she pulled it from its sheath. She stepped toward him, hearing the whisper of the elevator descending, then the doors opening.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said, just loudly enough for Asmodeus to hear as she strode toward him. Asmodeus threw back his head and laughed.

Not noticing as Gideon sprinted from the elevator and behind the main desk.

“My daughter.” His voice was deep, rougher than she expected. “My master said you were a live one, perhaps with more bravado than sense.” He raised his pudgy, pasty hands to his shoulders in a mockery of surrender. “I haven’t come here to harm you—I don’t even carry a weapon. I’ve come to bring you home.”

“You can’t possibly think I’d go anywhere with you.” She glared at him, watching Gideon from the corner of her eye. He stood on top of the desk now, bow in hand, arrow nocked, aimed at the demon’s heart. Hope resisted the urge to meet his eyes, not wanting Asmodeus to notice where she was looking.

“Not willingly, perhaps,” Asmodeus said, stepping away from Hope and the angel blade in her hand. “At least, not without a bargain.”

“Lucifer already made me a _bargain_.” She sneered at the last word, changing course slightly so she circled around him, forcing his retreat toward the desk. “Ask him how well that worked out for him.”

“He decided you needed an added incentive.” Asmodeus took another step back, lowering his hands. “Your boyfriend is alive. And _relatively_ unharmed,” he said, shrugging. Hope tried to keep her panic from showing on her face as she continued to stalk him, keeping his eyes focused on her. He relaxed, his eyes roaming down her body, appraising. “You are a pretty thing. If you weren’t my daughter—well, maybe even if you were. If it’s good enough for royalty—”

Hope’s stomach twisted, acrid bile rising to her throat as she kept leading Asmodeus toward Gideon. One step, then another, bringing her angel blade closer to eye level. Sighting along the blade like she had been taught. Glowering at Asmodeus as she prepared to throw it.

Right between those eyes, so much like hers.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, my little warrior princess. If I don’t return, your lover dies.” Hope hesitated for a split second, then took another step back, dagger still level with her ear. She held her breath, waiting as Asmodeus began to advance on her.

Hope dragged her eyes from him, meeting Gideon’s steady gaze behind her.

“Now!” she cried as she flung her blade, at the same moment Gideon let his arrow fly. Both sailed through the air, through—

Nothing.

Her blade clattered to the ground near the desk, his arrow bouncing against the wall at her back. Hope glanced around the lobby, searching for Asmodeus, feeling the air move behind her just as she caught the flash of alarm in Gideon’s eyes. Then she felt Asmodeus’s arm wrap around her neck.

He pulled her close, pressing her against his body. She fought the urge to shudder, grabbing his arm with both hands, trying to pry it away, but he tightened it. Too much. She couldn’t breathe.

She gasped for air, her lungs searing, darkness prickling the corners of her eyes. “You—can’t—” she ground out. He grunted as he pressed her tighter—she was going to pass out if he didn’t let go.

Gideon straightened, another arrow nocked and aimed right at Asmodeus’s heart. But he couldn’t shoot.

Hope was in the way.

Then, blessedly, Asmodeus relaxed his arm, just enough for her to draw air. Hope sucked in gasping, choking breaths, barely enough to alleviate the burning in her lungs. “I do have orders to bring you to my master alive. But he said nothing about you being unmolested.” His arm left her neck—Hope pulled in a giant breath, just as his hand groped down her chest. Resisting a shiver of revulsion, she lifted her foot and stomped on his. He swore viciously, flexing his hand across her chest. She strained against it, but he held her tighter, in a disgusting parody of an embrace.

She glanced over at Gideon. He still had an arrow nocked and aimed. Still couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

His face tight, he shifted his eyes almost imperceptibly down and to her left, then back toward to her blade. Then he stared Asmodeus down.

“Let her go,” Gideon said, raising his bow, aiming for a spot just over the demon’s eyes.

“Or what?” Asmodeus sneered. “You’re going to shoot? Your arrow won’t do any permanent damage.”

Hope clutched Asmodeus’s arm, channelling her fear and disgust into pure rage, feeling it flow through her, icy hot and horrible. She locked her eyes on her blade, staring at it, unblinking, just as she had in the training room, waiting until it twitched. Then focused harder, willing the blade to lift off the ground. To spin until the point faced them, hovering at her eye level.

“I know it won’t. But it’ll hurt like a son of a bitch.” Gideon’s arrow sailed over Hope’s head and she felt the impact as it struck Asmodeus’s skull. But he barely flinched.

Hope didn’t take her eyes off her blade, pulling Asmodeus’s arm up to her mouth, biting it. Hard. Asmodeus howled in pain—or surprise—loosening his grip on her just enough for her to duck, the blade flying toward them.

She rolled away, coming up onto her knees. Watched as the dagger landed in Asmodeus’s chest, sunk through to the hilt, the angel wings piercing his suit jacket.

Asmodeus laughed. “You disappoint me, daughter.” He pulled the blade free, tossing it aside.

Hope’s jaw dropped.

Asmodeus pulled the arrow from his head, snapping it in half, the wound already healing. “Better luck next time,” he sneered. Then looked down, frowning at the hole in his clothing, at the already drying ink-black spots of blood. “You ruined my suit. Perhaps I’ll go back and kill your lover myself,” he mused.

Then he vanished, her angel blade clattering to the citrine floor.

Hope sunk to the ground, the stone cold against the side of her face. She felt empty and numb from the loss of adrenaline, from the crushing exhaustion of defeat. She felt boneless, like she’d never be able to drag herself upright again.

But she didn’t have to.

Gideon was there, pulling her up and against him, his arms around her, steady and strong. She clung to him, breathing in the citrusy scent of him, waiting for the sting of tears in her eyes, for the burn in the back of her throat.

It didn’t come.

“He’s not going to do it,” Gideon said softly, running his hand up and down her back. “Not while Lucifer can use Seth to get to you.”

“I hope you’re right,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “But why didn’t the blade kill him? When I stabbed Lauren—the demon inside Lauren, it killed her. Would have killed them both if it had been a real blade.” Her breath hitched. “But this _was_ a real blade. So why?”

“I don’t know,” he said, drawing her away, his gaze steady. “But I bet Raph does.” His eyes were soft as he slid his hand up her arm to heal her, but she shook her head. She wasn’t hurt—not physically, anyway. Some of her strength was already begining to return.

Gideon stood, reaching down to help her up, her legs wobbly as she walked over to retrieve her angel blade while he grabbed the fallen arrows.

“I guess we better go talk to him then,” she said, her lips curving into a ghost of a smile. “And will you please call him ‘Raph’ when we do?”

#

It was late when Hope and Gideon returned to the dorms, after a quick consultation with Gabriel—where she took one look at them and ordered them to get a couple hours of sleep before talking to Raphael or going anywhere.

Hope was exhausted—but she couldn’t sleep. Images of Seth being brutally tortured alternated with a repeating loop of Asmodeus laughing as he pulled Hope’s angel blade from his chest. After what seemed like days of this, she threw off the blankets and padded to the kitchen. Maybe she needed some water. Or something stronger.

“Or maybe a mallet to the head,” she muttered to herself as she pushed open the door.

And stopped dead.

“Oh! I’m sorry—” her words were cut off as she stared at the woman sitting at the island. She couldn’t see her very well—the only light came from the moon in the window at the woman’s back—but she caught a flash of pale, delicate hands and a curtain of glossy black hair falling nearly to the woman’s waist. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” Hope muttered, turning to return to her room.

“Hope Grayson.” The woman’s voice was deep, with a sharp, clipped accent. Hope halted, then turned back around. “I’m here to see you. Please.” The woman waved her hand, indicating one of the stools. “Come sit.”

Hope approached the island, deciding to take a seat across from the woman instead of beside her. “Azrael,” she guessed. The woman nodded and waved her hand, a blaze of candles flaring between them. Hope blinked a few times while her eyes adjusted. Then she could do nothing but stare.

Azrael was the most beautiful person—angel—creature—Hope had ever seen. She had a high forehead and wide, violet-blue eyes. Her nose was long and aquiline, her lips full and red, and her skin, reflected now by candlelight rather than moonlight, wasn’t ivory—it was a rich, flawless olive-beige. She would be absolutely intimidating if Hope had the energy to be cowed.

“You’ve given me no small measure of trouble in your short time on Earth,” Azrael said and Hope had no idea how to respond. Because it was true. First her mother, then her unchecked healing—

She stared out the window over Azrael’s shoulder, buying time while she thought of a response. From the corner of her eye, she watched Azrael fold her hands on the table.

“I didn’t come to admonish you. I came to explain.”

“Why did you do it?” Hope asked, turning back to Azrael. “Why did you give me angel blood? Your blood?” She held Azrael’s gaze, too tired to keep her curiosity in check.

Azrael, sighed, running her hand through her hair—a gesture which made her seem less intimidating, more…human. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I didn’t know why I did it then, and I still don’t know why now. I heard your mother’s pleas, heard her begging for her guardian angel to help her. She told me what you’d done and I knew. I could _feel_ the demon blood coursing through your body, could feel the potential power it contained. When I appeared to your mother, I planned to—you were never meant to be. I intended to correct that error.”

Hope closed her eyes, her gut clenching.

She was alive because of a whim.

“But you didn’t,” she whispered around the thick lump lodging in her throat as she raised her eyes to Azrael again.

“No,” Azrael said softly. “There was something about your mother. Her desperation. It moved me. And I can assure you, as the archangel of death, very little moves me.” A wry smile curved her lips. “I showed your mother how to place the sigil at your back. How to perform the ritual—it was meant to shield you from others. And to curtail your power.” She sighed. “But it faded the moment it appeared on your skin. I had to give you some of my blood just to get it to stick. I’d hoped the two, together, would temper your demonic blood, make you more…human. Instead, you became even more powerful, a potent mixture of angelic and demonic, who could—”

“‘Who shall be our Salvation; or turn all to ash,’” Hope quoted. “So, which is it? Am I going to save the world—” she rolled her eyes, “—or will I burn everything to the ground?”

“I can’t say. Nobody can. Except for you.” Azrael smiled, more genuinely this time, understanding in her eyes. “Prophesies are vague. They don’t account for the most important gift my father gave you mortals: free will. You _are_ extraordinary, Hope Grayson, perhaps by accident, perhaps by divine will—my father may have had a hand in these events, absent or not—but only you can decide how to use the power you were given.”

Hope thought about that, about the responsibility thrust on her, about being plucked from her—okay, not completely ordinary, but close to it—life, about being asked to save the fucking world, for crying out loud. About Lucifer coming after her, tricking her into that goddamn _bargain_ —all to get revenge on his family for something he most likely deserved. She should probably feel humbled or honored to be trusted with this amount of power.

What she felt was frustration.

“I didn’t even want this.” Her hands curled into fists. “I just wanted to be normal, I didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to be _chosen_ —” she spat the last word, knocking the stool back as she stood. She strode around the island, halting before Azrael as she turned to face Hope. Azrael’s expression remained calm, steady, which only infuriated Hope more. “What if I decided to do nothing? To just go home—” she rolled her eyes “—okay, that won’t work.” She threw her hands up, impatient. “But just go to some desert island or something? To not choose at all?”

“Hope, I don’t have to tell you not choosing _is_ a choice. Because if you decide not to fight Lucifer, no matter how you do it, you’ll be helping him win.” She grasped Hope’s hands, uncurling them in hers, her expression sorrowful. “I know you believe this isn’t fair. It’s not. You do have free will. You can choose your fate. But if you want any chance of having anything approaching that normal life you desire so much, the only choice you _can_ make is to help us. I know my brother. If he thinks he can use you, use your power, he will destroy everything—and everyone—you care about to do it.”

“Samael,” Hope breathed his name, not meaning to. Azrael squeezed her hands—Hope expected the angel of death’s hands to be cold, but they were warm and smooth. She nodded, once.

“Something tells me he has an important part to play. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking; he _is_ my baby brother—” Hope snorted; she couldn’t help it. The thought of Seth being anyone’s baby anything—

Azrael gave her a slight smile. “I was…distraught when he fell. I think he—well, he chose a side, all those years ago, and I think maybe he would choose differently, now.” Azrael shook her head, clearing it of centuries-old memories. “I know my sister told you of a portal, a doorway you can access because of your bloodline.” She released Hope’s hands, pulling a ring off her finger

It looked like a simple silver band but when she slipped it over Hope’s finger, it flashed with the same bright light as an angel blade as it shrank to fit. Then the light winked out. “This ring—it once belonged to Samael. It might help you find him. Will you give it to him when you do?”

Hope nodded, fanning her hand out, watching the ring reflect the yellow candlelight. Azrael stood, towering over Hope for a moment before stepping away.

She grinned—it softened her face, making her look less like the archangel of death. More…human. “And when you do find Sammy, tell him Az says hi.”

Then she vanished.

“Sammy? Az? Really?” Hope chuckled to herself, turning to look out the window. The moon was gone, the sky lightening from navy to royal blue as dawn approached. “Looks like I’m not sleeping anytime soon,” she said to no one as she snuffed the candles, then rummaged through the cupboards until she found a bottle of wine, the same stuff as the first night.

She didn’t bother searching for a glass before she left, taking the bottle with her to watch the sun rise on the roof.

#

“I should’ve known I would find you here,” Hope said to the top of Gideon’s head. He looked up at her voice from where he sat against the slab of citrine that made up the top spire of the tower. Then, smiling faintly despite his red-rimmed eyes, he followed her movement as she plunked down beside him, splaying her legs in front of her. She unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle as she handed it to him.

“It’s a bit early, don’t you think?” he asked, his smile widening, his voice thick.

Hope shrugged. “Eh, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” she said, turning to watch the sky in front of them lighten, the cobalt fading to cerulean, the towers of the other halls slowly becoming visible.

“Yeah, maybe in Pakistan.” He took a swig, then handed the bottle back, his own gaze going back to the view in front of them. “Couldn’t sleep, hey?” He had his knees drawn up, one hand wrapped around them, bare feet flat against the stone.

“No.” She tilted the bottle back, drinking the wine like water.

“Whoa,” he reached for it, pulling it away. “Might want to ease up there, cowboy.”

“I met Azrael tonight,” she said, looking at Gideon once more. “She basically told me my only hope of ever having a normal life is to save the goddamn world.” She shrugged again. “You know, boring stuff.”

Gideon thrust the bottle back at her. “Yeesh. So, it was a casual, lighthearted conversation, then.” Hope snickered, taking another pull, handing the wine back to Gideon.

“Yeah. But I did ask her about the blood.”

“And I missed it? I never get to have any fun.” He winked at her as he drank, then put the bottle down between them.

“You didn’t miss much. It wasn’t that thrilling.” She sighed. “ _She_ doesn’t even know why she did it.” There was a long pause, both of them now watching the sun as it rose over the clouds, bathing the towers in pink and orange light. “You were crying,” she said softly, breaking the silence, “when I came up.”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his other arm around his knees.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She was only wearing the thin t-shirt she used for pajamas and she was cold, a tapestry of goosebumps forming on her arms from the cold air. He shrugged, still not looking at her.

“I was thinking about Glenda. About what she would do if—if she was still here.”

“Tell me about her?” She looked over at him, searching his face, hoping she wasn’t making it worse for him by asking. He took a deep breath, then turned to her and smiled. It was a sad smile, unshed tears gleaming in his eyes before he looked up, blinking them away.

“She got here around the same time I did. We were both fifteen, had just learned we were Nephilim. I was cocky, certain I would be God’s gift to fighting—” He chuckled. “Big surprise, huh?” He laughed again, but it seemed to catch in his throat. “Glenda was…quiet. I thought she was just shy, but once I got to know her—she was traumatized. Her parents—her dad didn’t take the news about her Nephilim bloodline well. I mean—it means her mom cheated on him, right? At least that’s how he saw it. They were traditional, would never divorce. And he wouldn’t let Glenda come here to train. She eventually ran away to do it. But I think, before she came here—he was pretty awful to her.”

“Jesus.” Hope shuffled herself over, closing the gap between them. She took the bottle, offering it to him. He shook his head, and she took another swig.

“We were thrust together in training, mostly because the others were older, more experienced. She threw all her time into it, became skilled, precise. I was more…impatient. I liked to show off.” His eyes twinkled at the memory. “I remember—she lost it on me one day. I’ve never seen anyone so furious—well, except maybe when you did that thing in the training room.”

Hope flushed.

“She told me that I was risking everyone’s lives with my recklessness. That I needed to grow up, to quit being such a dick and practice. She was right, of course,” he said. “She was a goddamned drill sergeant, making me do the same thing over and over until it was perfect before she would let me move on. She was worse than Raphael.”

Hope laughed out loud.

Gideon stretched out, bringing his legs down, folding his hands in his lap. Hope grabbed his left wrist, leaning her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for awhile, as the sky changed to a pale, almost silver-blue, the towers shining ahead.

“How did you…?”

“Fall in love? I don’t even know. I think we both knew, long before anything happened. Then one day, we were training—she took me down with a practice sword, knocked me flat on my ass. Then suddenly her legs were around mine and she was kissing me.” Hope squeezed his arm, letting it go as he brought his arm up and over her shoulder. “I never—well, she was my first.” He laughed, without humor. “She’ll probably be my last.”

“No,” Hope protested. “You’re too young—”

“But am I?” He turned her to face him, both hands on her shoulders, his eyes intense. “Right now, we’re planning to go into Hell, with no idea what we’re going to be facing—”

“Oh!” Hope lifted her hand, showing him the ring Azrael gave her. It flashed white again, so quickly Hope nearly missed it before it went dark again. “Azrael gave me this ring. She said it might help us find Seth.”

Gideon dropped his arms, grasping her fingers and bringing them closer to examine the ring. Then he whistled. “Jesus Christ, Hope. Someone up here likes you.” She cocked her head at him, puzzled. “I’ve heard of this ring. All the Nephilim have. It’s—well, it _was_ —Azrael’s most prized possession. She wouldn’t trust it with anyone—well, not anyone but you, apparently.” He stroked the ring on her finger, then looked at her, his expression unreadable. “She must think you’re the goddamned messiah.”

Hope snorted, pulling her hand back. “Here’s hoping I have a better ending than he did, though.” She pushed against the spire to stand, Gideon doing the same, a wry smile on his face as he took her hand again, leading her back down the tower.

“Let’s both get some sleep, then maybe a shower,” he said, sniffing his underarms with a smirk. “And then we storm the castle.”


	22. That Traitorous Weasel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uriel?” Raphael sounded surprised to see him. The man—archangel—lifted his head at his name, brushing white-blond hair out of pale, pale blue eyes. He had sharp cheekbones and a long nose, with an arrogant tilt to his head.  
> Hope bit her lip to suppress a smile. Gideon was right. Uriel looked like a dick. But right now, he looked terrified.  
> “Raphael. There’s something going on down on Earth. Lucifer has a group of demons surrounding some building. He’s possessed the inhabitants, and he’s threatened to take them unless Michael agrees to meet him there.”  
> Raphael frowned, casting a shrewd look at Uriel. “Of course Michael refused. Where is he? I shall speak with him while I send Hope and Gideon to investigate.” Hope looked over at Gideon—one side of his mouth curled in a sly smile, his eyes dancing. He squeezed her hand and she could feel herself getting excited, too. Then Hope glanced back at Raphael and her face fell, a blade of fear lancing her spine.  
> “He’s already down there,” Uriel said quietly, his expression unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uriel reveals himself as the heavenly mole.  
> Hope comes into her own.  
> Raphael—you'll see.

Hope’s eyes widened when she saw Raphael in the kitchen later that morning, sitting next to Gideon. She raised one brow to him as she poured herself a cup of coffee, adding milk and sugar before she joined them at the island. “What’s up?”

“Hope. I understand you and Gideon are anxious to retrieve Samael, but we have a…situation.” He held Hope’s gaze, his expression guarded.

Her brows hitched over her mug as she sipped, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t say anything, she looked over at Gideon. But he just shrugged.

“You were attacked by Asmodeus last night,” said Raphael. It wasn’t a question.

Hope set down her cup, laughing without humor. “We know. We were there.”

“He should not have been able to come here. All of Heaven is warded against demons. They cannot teleport. And they cannot access the portals. At least, not without assistance.”

“So, someone up here helped him?” asked Gideon. “Who the hell would do that?”

Raphael shook his head, his eyes darkening. He looked troubled. “I do not know. I have my…suspicions. But I cannot act without any evidence.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I am asking if you will consider delaying your rescue effort until I can confirm the instigator of that attack. Otherwise, I fear you may be walking into a trap.”

Hope snorted, picking up her cup again. “We’re heading to Hell, Raphael, not the Bahamas. We’re already walking into a trap.” She gulped down her coffee like water. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never supposed you were,” Raphael replied, looking taken aback. “If my suspicions are true, however, we might be able to use this…person to get Samael back without you two—”

Something made a series of high-pitched beeps near Raphael, sounding vaguely familiar. He reached into his pants pocket, lifting out a large chunk of citrine that flashed repeatedly—

Hope snickered when she realized what it was. “Hey Raphael, nineteen-ninety-six called. It wants its pager back.”

Gideon burst out laughing.

Raphael glared at them both, then peered into the stone. “Alexi says it’s important.” He hopped off the stool, heading for the hallway door. “Perhaps you should accompany me,” he added over his shoulder, sounding reluctant. Hope and Gideon glanced at each other, shrugged, then leapt off their stools, joining him at the door.

“Whatever you say, Raph,” replied Gideon, winking at Hope, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Raphael whipped his head around, glaring at him. “I told you not to call me that.”

Hope and Gideon burst out laughing again. They continued to giggle about it the entire way, Raphael huffing in annoyance ahead of them.

“You’re right, that _was_ fun,” said Gideon at the elevator, once he could breathe again.

Raphael slammed his hand against the panel with much more vigor than necessary, then spun to face them as the doors opened. “Do not make me regret bringing you two with me.”

They both howled as they joined him, the doors sliding shut behind them, just barely managing to contain themselves as the elevator glided soundlessly to the lobby floor. Once the doors opened, Hope could see a man pacing back and forth, practically vibrating.

“Uriel?” Raphael sounded surprised to see him. The man lifted his head at his name, brushing white-blond hair out of pale, pale blue eyes. He had sharp cheekbones and a long nose, with an arrogant tilt to his head.

Hope bit her lip to suppress a smile. Gideon was right. Uriel looked like a dick.

But right now, he looked terrified.

“Raphael. There’s something going on down on Earth. Lucifer has a group of demons surrounding some building. He’s possessed the inhabitants, and he’s threatened to take them, unless Michael agrees to meet him there.”

Raphael frowned, casting a shrewd look at Uriel. “Well, of course Michael refused. Where is he? I shall speak with him, while I send Hope and Gideon to investigate.” Hope looked over at Gideon—one side of his mouth curled in a sly smile, his eyes dancing. He squeezed her hand and she could feel herself getting excited, too, like it was infectious. Then Hope glanced back at Raphael and her face fell, a blade of fear lancing her spine.

“He’s already there,” Uriel said quietly, his expression unreadable.

#

“What’s with you and roofs anyway?” Hope asked, once they landed. The clouds above them were just beginning to darken, a mist of drizzle making it hard to figure out where they were at first. Hope could barely make out a line of trees, just a shade darker than the sky overhead.

“They’re a good vantage point,” Gideon said as he walked closer to the ledge. Hope followed him, peering over to see a parking lot as familiar to her as her own living room.

They were at the hospital.

“Oh no.” She backed up, then spun in a slow circle, her stomach dropping. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Gideon ran back to her, grabbing her hands in his. She dimly noted how warm they were compared with her own numb, icy fingers.

“Hope, what is it?” She still couldn’t speak, terror and worry tearing at her, making her feel sick. “Hope, please. You’re scaring me.” He gripped her hands tighter, pulling her against him. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear; it was faster than usual, but not racing, like hers. Oddly, it calmed her a bit. She took a ragged breath, then another, forcing herself to focus. Then she pulled away, knowing her expression was as grim as she felt.

“I can’t believe he picked _here_. Of all places.” Suddenly her dread gave way to molten fury. “That motherfucker. He’s going to pay for this.” She pushed Gideon away, drawing her angel blade as she stalked to the access door, Gideon rushing to meet her, his face still puzzled. Clutching the door handle, Hope whirled to face him, teeth clenched. “We’re at the hospital. Lucifer lured Michael to my goddamned workplace.”

Quick as lightning, Gideon grabbed her hand, pulling it away from the door. “Wait. If Lucifer lured him here, it’s got to be another trap. He wants you to be worried—about your friends, about the patients. If they’re possessed, he’ll be counting on you wanting to save them.” His long fingers wrapped around hers on the hilt of her blade. “You need to put this away—Lucifer won’t be here.” He guided her hand back to her hip; reluctantly, she sheathed the blade. Then he let her go, pulling his bow from his shoulder, casually nocking an arrow.

“They’re going to look like your coworkers, like patients—sick, vulnerable. But they’re not. They’re demons—in human bodies, possessing human bodies, and you’ll need to hurt them, maybe even kill them. Are you prepared for that?” Hope closed her eyes and nodded. The image of her blade plunging into Lauren’s chest came back, making her feel momentarily sick. She wasn’t prepared, would likely never be prepared to kill another person, even if they were possessed.

But she knew she might not have a choice.

“Let’s go,” was all she said as she stalked back to the door. Gideon grabbed her hand, pulling her back once more.

“Aim to injure, not to kill,” he said, his eyes softening. “We might be able to heal them. After.” She nodded grimly, then they walked through the door.

The emergency lights were on, so dim they barely illuminated their path down the narrow staircase, their footfalls soft on the concrete. The demons must have cut the power, she thought, hoping it was recent. The generator was good for only a couple of hours, counting on the timely response of the power company in case of a long outage. After that, the monitors and life support machines would be cut off.

Hope didn’t bother stopping at the top floor—general surgery. She knew Lucifer would aim where it would hurt her most. The third floor—the postpartum floor. Every step down the stairs pissed her off more, focused her anger. After this was over, she was going to rescue Seth.

Then Lucifer was going to pay. Dearly.

Once they reached the third-floor landing, she placed her hand on the handle of the fire door, peeking through the tiny rectangular window.

It was clear.

She opened the door, watchful as she left the stairwell, Gideon right behind her, bow drawn. The landing was a small, square area, with an emergency fire door leading outside to their right, a door leading to the main corridor to their left, both walls made of clear glass. Gideon stepped ahead of her, his finger on his lips as he crept toward the main corridor wall. He peered along each way as he approached the door, not wanting to be caught off-guard. Then he threw open the door and walked through, Hope dashing forward to catch up.

Two people in hospital scrubs stood at the main doors to the postpartum area, but they weren’t doctors.

They were guards.

They smiled viciously, their eyes gleaming in the dull yellow light overhead. “Oh, we’ve been expecting you, Nephilim,” sneered one of them.

Hope stared at them, expecting to feel something, some regret over having to hurt them. Maybe having to kill them. But they weren’t people to her anymore, weren’t human. They were just demons wrapped in human skin. Hope dimly wondered if she should be worried about the cold hardness wrapping around her, insulating her as she stared them down. Whether it was her fledgling training instincts kicking in or something else. Something darker. Instead, she thanked whoever might be listening she _didn’t_ feel anything—it would make it easier.

She drew a throwing knife from her belt, flinging it toward a guard in one smooth motion. It arced through the air, landing in the demon’s shoulder just as Gideon’s arrow struck the other one in the knee. Both demons clutched at their wounds, howling and falling over. Hope and Gideon pushed them aside as they passed.

They continued down the hallway, Hope closing patient room doors as they went—if the people behind them weren’t possessed, maybe they would stay safe and out of the way. Two more demons ran at them—Gideon rushed at one, pulling an arrow from the quiver at his back, nocking it and letting it fly in the same amount of time it took Hope to pull another throwing knife from her belt. His arrow struck true this time, embedding itself in the demon’s chest, knocking the demon backward. Hope rushed at the other one, gripping her shoulder, vaulting over, stabbing her in the center of her back, the hilt of the knife vibrating in her hand as it struck the demon’s spine. The demon slid forward, the knife withdrawing from her back, blood spreading across the surgical green fabric as she fell.

Hope looked over at Gideon—he was staring at her, his mouth slightly open. But his eyes glittered, impressed. “Jesus. You were made for this.”

Hope wasn’t sure she liked the compliment.

“We need to find Michael,” was all she said, wiping the knife on her jeans, barely noticing the dark stain spreading across her thigh. “And I know where he is.” She turned the corner, taking the first right turn off the hallway.

To the nursery.

She halted in front of the window, peering in, Gideon joining her. The room was full of people—no, not people.

Demons.

Everyone she’d worked with—doctors, nurses, even the clerks and housekeepers were clustered in there, surrounding a tall black man. He easily stood at least a head above them all, dressed in loose white pants, a long white vest-like cape across his shoulders, his large, muscular arms bare. His back was to Hope and Gideon, holding a large, double-edged sword above his head, the blade glowing a brilliant white. The same white as an angel blade.

“Gloria.” Gideon said the one word, and Hope remembered. The sword Raphael had mentioned, the one Gideon talked about that day when they first stood on the roof of the Hall. Michael’s sword, given to him by God himself.

And he was preparing to slaughter all of Hope’s co-workers with it.

“No,” she cried, running into the nursery, throwing her hands out. Michael whirled to face her, his eyes narrowing at the intrusion. All the demons followed suit, a cluster of faces spinning toward her, erupting with vicious grins. Without thinking, Hope pushed with her hands, the blade flying from Michael’s, clattering to the ground behind him. Gideon raced forward to grab it before one of the demons could, the light dying as his hands closed around the hilt. Nobody watched as he silently stole through the back door, sword in hand.

Hope stepped away, aware of the sea of demons now focused on her.

Michael just sighed, closing his eyes as he swiftly pressed his hands down. Every one of the demons fell at his feet.

Hope took another step back. “Why didn’t you just do that before?”

“I was about to, until you burst in here.” Michael spoke softly, but his deep voice echoed through the small room. He opened his eyes again, gazing at Hope with a mixture of irritation and amusement. “You must be the Nephilim I’ve been hearing so much about.” Then he raised his head, looking behind her. “Gideon. If you would be so kind.”

Gideon must have circled around from the main hallway. He walked past Hope, giving the sword back to Michael, who sheathed it at his back, sighing wearily. “You two can go. I will perform the necessary ritual.”

“But why would Uriel call Raphael? Why would he need to tell him about this, if you could take care of it alone?” Hope asked, confused. Gideon shrugged, his puzzled expression matching hers.

“Uriel sent you?” Michael asked. Hope and Gideon both nodded, and Michael’s expression became grave, a heaviness coming over his features. He closed his eyes again, dropping his head. “I feared his ambition would be the better of him,” he muttered.

“What the hell does that mean? Do you know something?” Hope asked, but Michael didn’t answer. Then Hope snapped her head over to Gideon, resisting the urge to smack her forehead once she realized.

“ _He’s_ working with Lucifer. _He_ sent Asmodeus to us,” she breathed, sure her expression mirrored Michael’s. “Lucifer picked this place to get to me, to show me—bargain or not—he can get to my friends, my family. Uriel must have known Raphael would send us here—” she froze. “He wanted us out of the way.” She looked over to Michael, then back at Gideon, seeing the rising horror widening his eyes.

“He took Raphael.”

#

Once Hope and Gideon left, Uriel turned to Raphael, his eyes gleaming, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Brother. Come with me.” He held out his hand, palm up.

Raphael glanced down at Uriel’s hand, then back up into his face. He could see the malice, the twisting of Uriel’s features around his placid smile. And he knew.

“You.”

Uriel nodded, his smile growing broader. “Me.”

“ _Why_?” Grief settled over Raphael’s shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Uriel was the Archangel of Wisdom; surely he, more than anyone, would understand the foolishness in aligning with Lucifer, would know he would never give Uriel what was promised. And if Michael learned of his betrayal— _when_ Michael learned of his betrayal—he would be banished. At best.

“You know why.” Uriel’s face hardened then, his eyes narrowing as he thrust his hand closer. “When our brother wins this war, I will be on the winning side. And I will be his second hand. Not the black sheep.”

Raphael knew he should be furious at Uriel’s betrayal, but—he did not. What he felt was pity. That Uriel felt himself so ostracized that aligning with Lucifer looked like the better choice. Even if it was mostly self-inflicted.

Uriel was, as Gideon would say, a dick.

Raphael stepped back. It had been a trap, sending Michael to Earth, Uriel sending to him—Uriel knew Raphael would dispatch his Nephilim to assist. Uriel wanted them distracted, out of the way.

Then Raphael realized just what Uriel had planned for him.

Raphael took another step back. Then teleported to his office door; the office itself was warded and Uriel would not be able to get to him. But Uriel knew where he was headed, appearing right as Raphael pressed his hand to the panel.

“Ugh, you are so predictable, Brother.” Uriel snatched Raphael’s wrist, his fingers digging painfully. “And now you’re coming with me.”

#

“Go back now,” Michael ordered. “I will…finish here.” Gideon snatched Hope’s wrist, teleporting them just as Michael began the exorcism ritual. They landed in the hallway outside the training room, Hope leaning over the railing to look down into the lobby, but it was deserted. Gideon walked over to the training room door, shoving his hand against it, pushing it wide open. Hope followed; the door banging shut behind her.

“Raphael?” Hope called, hoping for him to appear, but not expecting him to. Gideon’s eyes darkened, his lips clamping together. “Raphael?” She tried again, her fingers curling into fists at her thighs.

Frustration clawed up her spine. She wanted to do something, anything, but didn’t know what. “Uriel! You motherfucker! I know you have Raphael. Come and face me you goddamned coward!” She drew her angel blade as she stalked back out the door, heading toward Raphael’s office.

“Wait, Hope—” Gideon grabbed her wrist. “He’s not going to keep him here.” He gently pried the angel blade from her hand, sheathing it again, grasping her other hand in his. “We’ll find him. But we’re going to need some help.” He took a deep breath, then called Gabriel.

“Finally. I thought you two would never be ready to go.” Gabriel smiled, a touch of impatience in her silver-blue eyes. But then she glanced from Hope to Gideon, seeing their expressions, and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Gideon quickly filled her in, telling her about Asmodeus’s attack and Uriel’s betrayal, her expression becoming more and more thunderous by the second.

“That traitorous weasel!” Gabriel shrieked once Gideon was finished. “I cannot _wait_ to get my hands on him. I’ll tear his wings off myself!”

Gideon’s eyes flared wide, but he said nothing as he strode to the weapons cabinet, pulling out several daggers and throwing knives. He holstered most of them, passing the rest to Hope before re-stocking the quiver still over his shoulder. When they turned back to Gabriel, she appeared calmer, but her eyes remained steely, her lips pursed tightly together.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “You still need to go after Samael. I’ll take you to the portal, and Michael should be back by the time I return. We’ll take care of Uriel, find out what he’s done with Raphael.”

“You don’t think he—” Hope started to ask, a knot of dread twisting her gut.

“He wouldn’t dare. Turning against us, working with Lucifer—he will be punished. He may even be banished. But killing an archangel in cold blood, and a sibling at that—it is the gravest of murders. There is no punishment severe enough.”

“You might have to come up with one,” muttered Gideon as he pulled his angel blade, checking it. Then he glanced back up at Gabriel. “We’re going to need a boost.” Gabriel nodded, and Gideon grasped Hope’s wrist, bringing them both closer to Gabriel.

“A boost?” Hope asked. Gabriel didn’t answer; instead, she placed a slim brown hand on each their upper chests, fingers splayed across their skin. Hope glanced over at Gideon nervously, but he just winked at her as brilliant white light exploded from Gabriel’s hands. The energy slammed into Hope’s body, hard—she wondered if this was what a defibrillator felt like. It coursed through her body, erasing her fatigue, making her feel more awake than she had in days.

Then Gabriel released them. Hope blinked, looking over at Gideon.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Gideon grinned, with the same mildly stunned expression she was sure she had. Hope nodded, feeling like she’d been spiked with an IV of pure caffeine. “Okay, let’s roll.”


	23. Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope and Gideon go to hell.  
> Literally.
> 
> Uriel shows his hand.

“Where are we?” Hope asked, looking around. She, Gideon, and Gabriel stood on some sort of shelf on the side of a mountain—she could barely make out the steep slope on her left, the lip of rock surrounding them, the lights from a distant city glittering below. Pulling out her phone, she turned on the flashlight, scanning it at her feet. The ground appeared volcanic—dark, with bits of loose rock underfoot.

“Mount Vesuvius,” Gabriel said, her voice casual. Hope snapped to her, phone still in hand. Gabriel smiled—she knew this was a big deal.

Gideon whistled, gazing down at the glimmering lights.

“Jesus,” Hope breathed. Using her flashlight, Hope made her way closer to the lip of the crater wall, peering out and down. The moon was invisible—it was clearly on the other side of the mountain—the only light coming from the city below. “What city is that, then?”

“It’s Torre del Greco.” Smoothly, as if she were gliding over the rough rocks, Gabriel reached Hope, grasping her wrist to pull her back to the mountainside. “But we don’t have time for sightseeing.” Faster than Hope could follow, she pulled out a small dagger, slashing Hope’s hand from the base of her thumb to her pinky finger. Then she slammed it against the mountainside.

“Ow—” Hope protested, belatedly, but she barely got the words out before the surface shimmered, a red light forming over Hope’s bloody handprint, spreading until it became a swirling red oval, similar to the portal Raphael had used.

“Well, here we are. The doorway to Hell.” Hope gave the portal a sidelong glance as she pulled out her angel blade, Gideon swinging his bow off his shoulders, the riser held loosely at his hip. She looked over at Gabriel, who gave them an encouraging smile, but a shadow of doubt turned her eyes the color of rainclouds, making Hope’s heart thump even harder.

But she couldn’t think about failure. Couldn’t worry about the possibility they might not return. So, she turned away without a word and strode through the portal, Gideon right behind her.

It would have been pitch-black if not for her angel blade casting a brilliant white glow around the large, circular room. She swung the blade in a wide arc, but all she could see was black volcanic rock surrounding them, a ramp running the perimeter of the—no, not a room; a tower—leading down.

“Last chance to bail,” she said, casting a dubious glace at Gideon.

“Walk away from a chance to kick demon butt? Never.” He smirked at her, then headed toward the ramp. Hope followed, digging in her jacket pocket for a hair tie.

The ramp seemed to go on forever, the air growing progressively hotter as they went. Hope was tempted to take her thick denim jacket off, sweat streaking along her temple and down her back, but she didn’t want to give up its protection. They continued to descend, long enough that her impatience began to replace apprehension. Gideon didn’t say a word the entire way, but Hope could feel the restlessness radiating off him, infecting her, making her jumpy.

Abruptly, the ramp ended with an arched doorway to their right. “Finally,” Hope said, starting to head out, but Gideon yanked her back.

“You can’t just walk out there,” he snapped, thrusting her behind him, against the wall.

“Sorry,” she muttered. He continued to press her to the wall with one hand while he peered out the doorway, glancing left and right.

“Okay.” Releasing her, Gideon led Hope through the archway.

Then she stopped.

And stared.

A huge round tower rose in front of them, made of stone that looked like blackened glass. As Hope glanced up, she realized she’d been at the top before, the lights of Lucifer’s office shining through the obsidian rock. About halfway down, the rock spread out into a large keep, made of the same obsidian as the tower, with a small lip of volcanic rock at the base. Where Hope would have expected a moat was just empty space, a large, dark, open gap. Their side of the gap had another shore of volcanic rock, with a series of forges scattered around it, made of long, thick slabs of obsidian.

Hope looked over at the nearest one, watching the sparks fly as a massive man pounded something metal with a thick, heavy-looking hammer. The man paused, looking up in their direction, and Hope could see his eyes, depthless and black. She gasped, ducking back, narrowly missing the hammer sailing through the air, thudding against the floor behind her. When she peeked out again, all she could see was the demon’s feet beside the obsidian slab, Gideon’s bow in his hand.

Gideon grabbed her sleeve, hauling her to the right onto a set of stairs leading up to some sort of battlement. He crouched, pulling her down with him until they were hidden by the waist-high shelf running along the steps. Then pressed his finger to his lips, a wicked smile blooming behind it, his bright blue eyes dancing. It was infectious, Hope’s heart hammering against her ribs like a kickdrum, but her focus steady, the same feeling she’d had at the hospital when they took out those demons.

They were meant for this.

She readied her angel blade as Gideon raised his bow, silently nocking an arrow. The head of it glowed a brilliant white as he held it in place; it must be made of the same material as the angel blades. Gideon was shooting to kill this time.

They crept up the stairs, getting about halfway before they could see a guard standing at the top, facing away from them. As the guard began to pace away, Hope had a sudden, ridiculous thought. “This is just like _The Legend of Zelda_ ,” she muttered. “Where you have to sneak past the guards to get to the secret doorway.”

“How do you make sure you’re not seen?” he asked.

“They can only see a limited amount of space in front of them,” she confessed. “They can’t see to the side or behind.”

Gideon snorted. “How realistic.” He waited until the guard’s head was visible then loosed an arrow, embedding it between the demon’s eyes. The demon silently crumpled to the ground. “Better to just take them out.” He led her to the top of the stairs, then pulled the arrow free.

Hope crept over to the shelf of rock, peering over it—the battlement ran all the way around the outside of the keep. About halfway around, directly across from where they entered, another set of stairs lead to another archway. And presumably another tower and ramp back up to Earth. But maybe, along the way, they’d find a way into the keep.

“Let’s head there.” She pointed at the archway, then crouched back down and began to make her way over, Gideon behind her. He easily shot down the only other guard, near the other stairway, embedding an arrow in its head before it even noticed them. They slid down the steps to the archway, and, as expected, it was just another circular room, with another ramp leading up.

And Hope didn’t spot a single entryway into the keep.

Hope looked up into the blackness, swore, and rolled her eyes. Then turned back to Gideon, pointing at the obsidian tower behind him. “Did you see a way in?”

Gideon huffed out a sigh. “No.” Then he spun to the other set of stairs, mounting them to take out the two guards on the other side of the battlement. “Okay, so any other ideas?” he asked, once he returned, tucking the arrows back into his quiver. “We can’t very well walk through the front door. In fact, I don’t think I even saw a front door.”

Hope grabbed his sleeve, dragging him back up the stairs. They crept along the battlement, Hope staring at the tower, looking for any way to get inside.

There. About a quarter of the way around. A small opening in the wall with a thin ledge of obsidian stone below it, extending out over the pit. Hope dropped his arm, pointing at it, shoving her angel blade back into its leather scabbard.

“We can get in there,” she said, grinning at him. “Another thing about _The Legend of Zelda_. There’s always a secret way into Ganon’s castle.”

Gideon snorted, scanning the area, Hope following his gaze. The forge below them was unattended, but the one closest to the stairs was not. They would have to jump from here and take a running leap for the ledge. And from this height, Hope could see further down the gap; it looked bottomless, like an endless fall into darkness. Hope slumped down, feeling queasy.

“What is it?” Gideon asked, frowning.

“How are we going to get over that gap? We can’t jump that far.”

“When are you going to get it through your head?” He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again. “We’re Nephilim—well, you’re more than Nephilim. We _can_ jump that far.” He thrust out his hand, a roguish gleam in his blue eyes. “Do you trust me?” Hope clasped it in hers, a reluctant smile curving her lips. His grip was strong. Reassuring. Certain.

“Always.”

“Then let’s go.” They jumped over the shelf of rock, dropping their hands just as they hit the stone below, knees bent, pushing off to hurtle toward the pit. Right at the edge, Gideon jumped, Hope a split second behind, closing her eyes as she sailed through the air, landing with a thud that shocked her eyes back open.

“We did it,” she breathed, a grin spreading out over her face.

“Did you really have any doubt?” But Gideon was grinning, too. “Come on.” He led her further into opening, which turned out to be a small tunnel, just high and wide enough to accommodate one person—Gideon had to hunch over slightly as he moved along it. It wasn’t far, opening to a wide landing, a set of stairs leading up on their left, another leading down on their right.

Both directions were crawling with demons.

#

Gabriel was pacing the floor of the council room when Michael finally returned “You’re back.”

He nodded once, weary.

“It was Uriel,” she said, an edge to her voice.

He sank into one of the chairs, dropping his head in his hands. “I know.”

“He has Raphael.” The edge grew sharper.

“I _know_ ,” he said again, louder. He wished he could grieve, that he could take the time to feel sorrow that his own brother had betrayed them. But he didn’t have the luxury of time.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” she challenged. She moved closer, into his peripheral vision, hands on her hips.

“What I must.” He sighed, raising his head to her. “Gabriel, I know you are distraught. Believe me, I am even more so. I cannot believe—”

“I can.”

“He has always been ambitious,” he continued, ignoring her. “I just didn’t realize what he was willing to do to fulfill that ambition.”

Gabriel sat beside him, touching his wrist, her expression softening.

He lifted his head, one side of his mouth lifting in a rueful smile. “Do we have any idea what he did with Raphael?”

Gabriel shook her head. “I checked both offices while you were gone. They were vacant. I tried to search Uriel’s office, to find some sort of clue—”

“But he wouldn’t have been foolish enough to leave one.” Michael concluded. “And I know he will not come at my call.” He grasped Gabriel’s fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze, releasing them as he rose. “At least, not willingly.” He reached back, pulling Gloria from its sheath, pressing his finger against the middle stone in the row, the same clear quartz as the Hall of Wisdom.

Uriel’s stone.

#

“I was beginning to think this was too easy,” Hope said, pulling her angel blade free, the metal blazing like white fire as she faced the demons upstairs. Gideon whirled so his back was to her, drawing his bow, aiming for the ones below.

The first demon leapt off the stair, swinging a dagger down in a vicious arc, aiming for Hope’s head. She swerved her blade up as she ducked, knocking the dagger aside. Drew a throwing knife from her belt, embedding it in the demon’s head.

She flung the creature aside, only to have another one replace him, sweeping his knife across her middle. The tip cut through her jacket, stinging as it grazed her skin. She hissed in a breath. Then ducked as the demon aimed for her chest, sweeping her foot behind his leg, knocking him on his ass. Straddling him, she sunk her blade into his chest, rolling the body on top of her as another demon crouched and swung its axe, the impact as it struck the dead demon’s spine jarring her to the bone.

Hope threw the corpse off her, sitting up, scooting over until her back was against the wall of the landing, then leaning against it to stand. But before she could straighten fully, another demon lunged at her with his short sword.

She ducked. But not quickly enough. Incandescent heat lanced through her left shoulder as his blade sliced into it. She cried out, her knees giving way, gripping her angel blade tighter. She bit back another scream as she thrust her blade into the demon’s thigh, using the hilt to swing the creature aside. Then pulled the blade free.

She started to drag herself back up the wall, but another demon lunged, dagger drawn. Hope was faster. Just. She flung her blade into the demon’s skull, hopping to her left, guarding that side, grabbing for the holster on her right.

It was empty.

She reached around to the left, sliding the last throwing knife out. Hand shaking, she raised it to shoulder height, her breathing ragged, her eyes darting back and forth.

No more demons came.

Gideon rounded the corner to her, wiping blood off one of his arrows, a triumphant grin on his face. But it died the second he locked eyes with Hope. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him, unharmed but for a shallow gash across his cheek. But her legs refused to hold her up.

She felt herself crumple, sprawling on the landing. Dropped the dagger, clutching her left shoulder. Now that it was over, she could feel the wound. It was on fire, her blood hot as it seeped through her icy fingers.

“Here.” Gideon knelt in front of her, his hand steady on her shoulder, applying pressure to the wound. He helped her to slide her jacket over her right shoulder, easing her arm out before gingerly moving it away from her injured side. He whistled, then placed his hand on her bare skin. Hope closed her eyes, feeling the soothing warmth from his hand as he healed her, the skin knitting itself back together, the pain dulling then vanishing altogether.

Her shoulder was better, but he continued to hold it; it took Hope a moment to realize what he was doing. She pulled his hand away.

“Save it. You’ll probably need it.”

“But—”

“I’m okay.” She smiled, still feeling a bit shaky as she pulled the rest of her jacket free to test her arm, rotating the shoulder a couple of times. It was stiff, but pain-free. She tucked her legs beneath her to stand on her knees, crawling over to pluck her angel blade from the demon’s skull, wiping the blood on her jeans. The streak was barely noticeable among the spatters and sprays of blackish blood across both legs.

But on her tank top, just above the hem. A jagged horizontal line of brighter blood. That was hers.

She braced her hand on the back of one of the corpses, using it to help her stand. Then, once her legs were steady enough, she took the few steps back to the stairs. Glanced both ways, then nodded to herself.

Gideon still looked worried as he got up to meet her, but she grinned at him. They were close. She could feel it. Feel _him_. Then she glanced down at her hand, at Seth’s ring.

It started to glow—dimly.

“Going down,” she said, leading the way down the steps, knowing there would be a dungeon at the bottom, and Seth would be in it. She kept her angel blade at eye level—the ring glowed more brightly now, as if it could sense him.

They were close.

They took the stairs slowly, cautiously, reaching the bottom without incident.

“This is weird,” Gideon looked uneasy, his face tight, his eyes wary. “The stairs were crawling with demons, but there’s nobody standing guard here?”

“I know.” She sighed, knowing she had the same expression on her face. “But we’re in too deep now.” She glanced along the corridor. It was narrow and made of rough granite—not obsidian like the rest of the keep. The air felt dank and smelled musty, with a sharp, acrid undertone, like old sweat. On either side of the hallway, a series of doors, each with a small, square window at eye level—well, eye level for tall people, Hope thought with a frown. Still, as she approached the first window, she was just able to peek through it by standing on her toes. Gideon stood watch beside her, bow ready.

She peered through the first window, raising the angel blade like a flashlight. It was some sort of cell, with a bench along the far wall, and a large steel ring set in the ceiling at the center. But it was empty.

She glanced down. Noted the light from the ring begin to grow brighter as she moved her hand toward the next cell. She followed the light, knowing who she would find on the other side of the door.

There.

Seth lay in the middle of the cell, the chains around his wrists loose as they ran up and through the ring. But Hope couldn’t see where they attached. He faced her, asleep, his dark hair hanging in limp strands down his cheeks, his body curled in on itself. She could just see the side of his back. Could see the dark lines running across it, crisscrossing each other.

Whip marks.

She swallowed the sharp rise of acid to her throat, turning to Gideon.

“I’ll guard the door,” he said softly. “You go to him.”

Hope pushed on the door handle, completely unsurprised to find it swung open easily. The light from the corridor cut a path along the stone, widening until it reached Seth. Hope held the door open, using the light to get a better look at the room. There was something hanging from the wall on her right; it looked like some sort of lantern. She reached for it, pulling it from its hook. It was an electric lantern, like the ones used for camping. Hope pressed the switch, the bulb blazing to life as she stepped forward, letting the door swing shut.

“Seth?” She dashed forward, kneeling in front of him, laying the lantern beside her. Reached her hand toward his shoulder. He stirred at her touch but didn’t open his eyes. An icy shard of panic stabbed her chest, making her gasp.

What had Lucifer done to him?

“Seth, it’s me.” She dug her fingers into his shoulder, hoping the pain would wake him. It seemed to work. He lifted his head, groggy, eyes still closed against the light.

“Hope?” He rasped, sounding like he hadn’t spoken a word in days. Hope desperately wished she had thought to bring some water. Still, she was relieved that he was awake. That he was alive.

“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath, raising her hand to touch his cheek. He opened his eyes—they were black, glinting with cold malice, a matching smile curving his lips.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but your prince is in another castle.”

“Mother—” she didn’t get to finish. Lucifer’s hand shot out, clasping her wrist.

#

“Uriel.” Michael felt his face turn to stone at his brother’s appearance, barely able to contain his anger. Panic flashed across Uriel’s features as his eyes fixed on first Michael, then Gabriel, standing before him in the council chamber.

“How—” he started to ask, but Michael cut him off.

“That doesn’t concern you.” Michael shoved Gloria back over his shoulder, despite his temptation to run it through his brother. “Your only concern is what I intend to do with your traitorous ass. Now, if you have any sense of self-preservation, you will deliver Raphael to me. Now.”

Uriel flinched at the command, then lowered his head to the floor, as if he were afraid of Michael. He should be—it was taking all of Michael’s restraint not to rip Uriel’s wings from his body.

“I can’t.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“What do you mean you can’t!” Michael roared, the glass table rattling dangerously. Gabriel stepped away from him, alarmed, even though his anger wasn’t directed at her. Uriel cringed under their increasingly piercing gaze.

But then his expression changed. A slow, terrible smile began to spread across his face. Michael fought to keep his expression hard, impassive. Even as he felt his gut clench with dread.

“He’s somewhere where even you cannot reach him.” He stepped back, widening the distance between him and Michael. “Perhaps the Nephilim girl, or even Gideon could. They’re so close to him already.” His smile turned taunting. “But they’re busy rescuing our half-brother, aren’t they?”


	24. Let’s Start Some Negotiating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael is imprisoned.  
> Hope finds Seth—but there's a catch.

Raphael awoke to the sound of footsteps and voices outside his cell. He raised his head, glancing at the tiny square window in the door, where a small shaft of light streamed inside. Straining his eyes, his ears, for any sign of familiarity.

“This is weird.” It was Gideon’s voice, faint but clear. “The stairs were crawling with demons, but there’s nobody standing guard here?” His voice grew louder as he approached; Hope must be with him. They must be here to rescue Samael.

They would not know he was here.

But now he knew where he was.

Raphael pulled at his chains, trying to rattle them enough to be heard. Tucked the side of his face against his shoulder, vainly trying to loosen the gag in his mouth.

It did not work.

He bellowed against the gag, as loudly as he could. Futilely; it was not loud enough to carry outside his cell. He had already attempted, several times, to change into his angelic form. In vain. The irons must have been warded.

He was trapped.

Raphael was unsure how long he had been here, whether anyone had noted his absence. Whether anyone had learned of Uriel’s treachery.

If anyone would rescue him. If anyone even knew where to search.

Their footsteps grew closer still, then halted, just outside the door. There was a flash of brilliant white light, but it was so brief Raphael was not certain what it was. Then another.

It was the light of an angel blade.

He swung his hands harder, pounding the chains together. Hollered around the material in his mouth, feeling it dig into the corners, chafing them raw. He stilled, desperately listening for any sound, any hint he was heard. That Hope and Gideon could somehow sense he was behind the cell door.

“I’ll guard the door,” Gideon said. “You go to him.”

Raphael looked up at the window, but the light was gone.

There was no one there.

They hadn’t come for him. They had come for Samael. They had no idea he was even here.

Raphael closed his eyes. Bowed his head. Fought the despair which threatened to close around him like a cage.

And, for the first time in his entire existence, prayed.

#

Hope lifted her head, saw the desk in front of her, and groaned. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, pushing up to stand. She turned, expecting to see Lucifer standing over her, smug smile on his face.

He wasn’t. Hope spun in a slow circle, but he wasn’t in his office at all.

But Seth was.

Draped across the black leather couch, looking only slightly better than Lucifer had disguised as him. At least his blue sweater and jeans looked clean, his dark hair falling across his face. He was pale, though. Frighteningly so, with deep purple shadows beneath his eyes and deeper hollows beneath his cheeks.

Hope took a couple of steps toward him. Then stopped, wary of being tricked again. But he must have noticed her staring because he opened one stormy blue eye, piercing hers with a weary hatred. “It’s not going to work this time, Lucifer.” He shut it again. “I know she’s not coming. You can’t trick me with that anymore.”

“No, Seth, it’s me.” She took another step.

He opened both eyes this time, glaring at her, making her flinch at the raw loathing on his face. “You’re wasting your time. She’s not coming. She’d be an idiot to come.” He sat up, slowly, wincing. “You might as well get it over with. She’s not falling for your trap. I’m no use to you. Just do it.” He arched his back, pulling his sweater down, exposing his chest.

His heart.

“Just kill me and be done with it.” He turned his head up to look at her and Hope gasped—she had never seen anyone look so resigned and desperate at the same time. Feeling her heart crack in half, she chanced another step forward, hands outstretched.

“No, Seth, it’s me. Hope.” She met his eyes, silently pleading for him to believe her; for the merest instant she saw the doubt leave his eyes. They widened, ever so slightly— then narrowed once more, blazing into pure disgust. She flinched, taking an involuntary step back.

“Stay away from me,” he hissed, scrambling off the couch, backing away from her, toward the door. He looked like a cornered animal—the crack in Hope’s heart grew to a fissure.

“Please, you have to believe me,” she pleaded, aloud this time. She slowly approached him, her movements deliberate, as if she was coming up to something feral. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to convince him, to make him believe. “Please, Seth,” she begged, edging closer to him.

She held his gaze as she got nearer, hands open in front of her, willing him to see that she was telling the truth. But with every step, he retreated, until he backed into the wall.

Hope halted, about a foot away. Keeping her distance. Non-threatening. “Samael,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

Seth’s eyes shifted from her face to her left hand, widening when he spotted the ring on her finger. It flashed once, a brilliant white.

His eyes met hers again, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted, stunned. Taking advantage of it, before he had a chance to turn away, she closed the distance between them, grabbing his shoulders and covering his mouth with hers.

Seth stiffened, his whole body going rigid, then his hands were on her, at her neck and around her waist, pulling her closer. Hope leaned into him, pressing her body against his, pushing his back against the wall. He hissed in pain against her mouth.

She drew back slightly. He must still have some whip marks under the sweater. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” he growled, pulling her against him again.

“I could heal those, you know,” she murmured against his lips. He flicked his tongue along her lower lip, then gently nipped at it.

“Later.” He moved his hand around to her lower back, pressing her closer. Hope sighed against his mouth. She wanted to stay here—God only knew how much. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“No, we need to get out of here.” She tore her mouth from his, pulling back, glancing at the door. “How do we—”

“What a touching reunion.”

Hope felt Seth stiffen against her.

Lucifer stood in the doorway, holding Gideon by his jacket. He was unconscious. Lucifer shoved him aside, where he hit the hardwood floor, motionless.

Hope leapt up. Turned toward Lucifer, shielding Seth behind her. Watched, wary, as Lucifer stepped forward, letting the door close behind him. Pointed at Gideon’s still form. “You’d best see to your Nephilim friend over there. He’s bleeding pretty badly.”

Hope’s eyes snapped over to Gideon, watching as a pool of dark liquid grew underneath his body. She glared at Lucifer, knowing it was a trick, knowing she had no choice but to leave Seth to save him. But she dashed over to Gideon, dropping to her knees beside him, thrusting her hands on him.

She closed her eyes, trying to block everything out as she felt the warmth come to her hands. Felt it expand, light blazing beneath her eyelids. Concentrated on healing Gideon.

She dimly heard a rattle of chains behind her as she worked, her hands growing warmer, the light brighter, until she heard Gideon groan. Her eyes flew open, searching for his. He gave her a weak smile as he struggled to sit up. Hope grasped his wrist to help him up; this was the first time she wasn’t drained after a healing.

Then she saw the look on Gideon’s face.

She dropped his arm, whirling to stand, unsheathing her angel blade as she spun.

Seth was in the center of the room, bare to the waist. His wrists were shackled, the chains attached to the ceiling, his arms stretched high over his head, his feet barely touching the floor. He managed to pivot himself so he could look at her, his eyes blazing with fury.

But not at her. Hope saw the fear and desperation behind them, certain her own eyes held the same expression.

“Good. Now that everyone’s healthy and happy,” Lucifer waved a hand in Seth’s direction “well, nearly everyone—let’s start some negotiating.” Lucifer uncoiled a length of metallic rope from his hip, his left hand swishing it lazily back and forth across the hardwood floor.

“Daughter of Asmodeus,” he began, his black eyes boring into hers. “I’m afraid you are at a disadvantage. You knew that I was holding Samael to lure you here, yet you came anyway. How _touching_.” He pointed at Gideon, who had risen to stand next to Hope. “You even brought some company. Or, perhaps another bargaining chip?”

He slid his eyes to Gideon, giving him an exaggerated wink. “You are the spitting image of your father, aren’t you?” Without elaborating, he approached Seth.

“I tried,” he said, running his fingers down Seth’s back. “First, with these. Then, when that didn’t work, I tried…other methods. Still, our boy is resilient. I tried to break him, wanted you to find nothing more than an empty shell when you arrived. But I just couldn’t get to him.” Lucifer tapped at Seth’s wounds as he spoke, making Seth flinch.

Then he grabbed Seth’s shoulder, spinning him around so Hope could see his back, could see the barely healed stripes of ruined flesh criss-crossing it from shoulder to waist. Her stomach lurched as she felt her heart stop, her breath trapped in her lungs. “But I bet I can get to you,” Lucifer taunted.

He straightened. “The terms of our bargain have changed. I release you from the old one—you’re no use to me if I can’t compel you. Instead, I need you to retrieve something for me.” Lucifer smiled as he pivoted around Seth, his fingers trailing along his back, until he was standing just off to the side, whip raised in his hand, poised to strike.

“What?” Hope’s voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze fixed on the metal in Lucifer’s hand.

“Gloria.”

“Michael’s sword?” She asked, incredulous. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I assure you I am most sincere.” Lightning fast, with a crack like a gunshot, his whip lashed across Seth’s back, opening the raw wounds, blood seeping to the surface of his skin.

Hope’s entire body seized, her hands flying to her mouth. She dragged her eyes to Lucifer, eyes wide with horror. He watched her expectantly, eyebrows cocked.

Then she turned back to Seth. He managed to turn himself around, barely. His eyes met hers, glazed with pain, appearing black against his bloodless face. He shook his head, his lips forming one word.

 _Run_.

Hope shook her head as she lowered her hands to her neck. “You’re asking for the impossible. Michael will never turn his sword over to me.”

“Oh, you’re a clever girl. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Lucifer stood behind Seth again, a slow smile on his face. “Bring me the sword, and you get your boyfriend back.” He trailed his fingers along Seth’s back, then brought his bloody fingers to his lips. And slowly, deliberately licked the blood from them, his eyes never leaving Hope’s.

A shiver of revulsion ran through her body, bone-deep. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“If you hurry, he might still be in one piece,” Lucifer drawled, licking his lips. Then he sighed, raising his arm, the whip poised to strike once more. “So. Do we have a deal?”

The whip snapped. Hope saw Seth clench his jaw to keep from crying out. Felt her own breath catch in her throat.

“Yes? No?”

Another crack, like thunder. This time, Hope saw the pain flare in Seth’s eyes, heard the strangled scream tear from his throat, his entire body arching like a drawn bow.

Her hands were wet from the tears sliding down her face, down her neck. Her insides had turned to water, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She lifted her head to Lucifer, ready to agree. She would do whatever he wanted.

If only he’d stop.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, a flash. Hope whirled to see Gideon, angel blade in hand, dash around the other side of Seth, trying to get a clear sight to Lucifer.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Carelessly flicked his hand and Gideon flew back against the wall. He looked stunned, but at least he stayed conscious.

It snapped Hope out of her shocked misery. Replaced it with searing rage.

“Oh, come on,” Lucifer spat, looking down at Gideon, annoyed. “Now you’re just embarrassing yourself.” Then he raised his hand to strike Seth again.

Hope narrowed her eyes. Felt the heat of her fury swirl, coalescing at her core. Let it grow until she could no longer contain it. Then she pushed her whole body forward, arms outstretched.

She felt the energy surge from her hands, slamming into Lucifer, knocking him back. Then she shifted it, pushing against the chains over Seth’s head. Watched them snap as she darted forward, catching Seth as he crumpled to the ground, easing him down. She turned to glance at Gideon, but he had already reached them.

Together, they managed to stand, holding Seth between the two of them. He was barely conscious, his breathing ragged, blood streaming down his back. Hope briefly considered healing him now—it would be easier to escape if he was whole.

But they needed to get out first. Half-staggering, half-hopping they turned, heading toward the door.

“I don’t think so,” Lucifer said softly. He appeared in front of them, arms crossed, blocking their way, his expression taunting. “You might want to get him to the couch, my dear. He looks a little peaked.”

Hope glanced at Seth. He was unconscious, half-dragging her and Gideon down. They had no choice but to shuffle him over and lay him across the black leather. She glared at Lucifer as she held Seth’s head in her lap.

“Now. Where were we?” Lucifer strolled over to his desk, turning to lean against it, his eyes on hers once more. A lazy smile played on his lips. “Oh, yes. You were just about to agree to get Gloria for me. And, to seal our new bargain in good faith, I’m even going to let you choose who stays as collateral.”

“Fine,” Hope snapped. “I will. Gideon can get the sword. Michael’s more likely to give it to him anyway.” She shot Gideon a quick look, willing him to go along with her. Then she turned back to Lucifer, covering her nerves with a glower.

“Oh, Hope, so self-sacrificing. But sweetheart, that’s not how this works. It would spoil all the fun of making you _choose_.” His black eyes sparkled as cocked his head. “Now. Who’s it going to be? Perhaps the gallant Nephilim, fighting bravely at your side—” he gave Gideon an appraising look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about tapping that,” he added, winking.

Then he flicked his eyes over to Seth. “Or, the handsome Samael, your one true love,” he concluded flatly, sighing and rolling his eyes as if bored at the idea.

Hope opened her mouth to speak, not sure what she was going to say.

“I will stay.” Gideon stood, calmly walking over to stand in front of Lucifer.

“No.” The word was torn from Hope’s mouth. “Gideon, you can’t.”

“Oh, but he has,” Lucifer breathed. A slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips. “This is most interesting. I look forward to exploring the reasons why.” Abruptly, he stood, crossing over to Hope and Seth, placing his long, slender fingers on Hope’s shoulder. “You have until tomorrow to bring me the sword.” He dug in his fingers, painfully, as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Then he was gone.

And She and Seth were sitting on the floor just outside her apartment. She slumped back, her head hitting the door behind her.


	25. You Give Some, You Get Some

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope goes to Michael for the sword.  
> Seth goes to Azrael to stop him.  
> Secrets are revealed, and a bargain is fulfilled.

Gabriel stood on the lip at the side of Mount Vesuvius once more, the afternoon sun shining overhead. She didn’t waste time looking around but marched over to the granite wall, a vial of demon blood in her hand, gleaming black-red in the sunshine. Carefully, she removed the stopper, pouring a small measure into her palm. It was cold, not warming at the contact with her skin.

Re-sealing the bottle, she dropped it into the pocket of her thick leather jacket, taking a deep breath as she pressed her palm against the rock.

Nothing happened.

Maybe it wasn’t going to work. Maybe the blood needed to be fresh—

The portal appeared, swirling red light growing around her handprint.

She didn’t bother with the ramp. Instead, she closed her eyes, concentrating, feeling for Raphael’s presence. It was faint—as if it came from far away. But still detectable. She kept her focus on it as she vanished, teleporting to its source.

When she opened her eyes, she stood outside a cell door made of thick metal, a small window just above her head. She rose to her toes, peering inside. In the dim light coming from the window, she could just make out a heap of a person chained in the middle of the room, but she couldn’t see well enough to determine if it was Raphael. She could feel him, though, the presence stronger than before.

“Raphael,” she whispered, just to be sure. He stirred but did not sit up. “Raphael,” she said, louder. He lifted his head, barely, his eyes slitting open. He looked sick, maybe even injured.

Only—archangels didn’t get sick. Or injured. Those chains must have been warded.

Gabriel glanced down. A large padlock looped through the handle, sealing the door. She tugged at it, but it held firm.

“How do I open the door?” she asked, standing on her toes again to look at Raphael. He shrugged, looking hopeless. Gabriel dropped back down, her hand on the padlock, turning it around to look for some way to crack it open, but instead of a keyhole, it had a small, circular borehole in the center.

On a hunch, she reached into her pocket, pulling out the vial of demon blood once more. She tipped it against the edge of the hole, pouring a small amount inside.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, upending the small vial, using the rest—Father help her if she needed more later. Then she waited, panic rising in her chest. What if this didn’t work? How would she get him out?

Blessedly, the lock clicked in her hand. She pulled the shackle free, looping it off the door and tossing it to the ground before yanking the door open, rushing at Raphael. She dropped to her knees beside him, placing her hands on him before he could protest, healing him. Once she was done, he sat up, brushing his tangled, filthy hair out of his eyes, staring at her with a strange mixture of relief and horror.

“I did not think anyone would know where to find me,” he said. “I thought I had resorted to hallucination.” A wry smile tugged the corners of his lips.

Gabriel shook her head, feeling herself smile back, relieved that he now appeared unhurt. Glancing up, she followed the line of the chains from Raphael’s wrists to the metal ring above, then across to where they were fixed to the wall by the door.

“Do you know how to get rid of these?” she asked, wishing she had held on to some of that demon blood as he shook his head, his smile vanishing. Gabriel searched the stone floor near the entrance. Maybe she could coax some of the blood out of the lock, could try pouring it on the chains—

She heard footsteps. And they were getting closer.

#

Gideon sat on the black sofa in Lucifer’s office, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Not moving. Not breathing. Not giving anything away.

Hopefully.

“All right,” Lucifer began, fixing his depthless black eyes on Gideon. “Let’s see what makes you tick.”

He circled Gideon slowly, appraisingly, dragging his finger drag across Gideon’s lips—it took everything he had not to flinch. Then Lucifer lunged forward, his fingers sliding to grip Gideon’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes—and he couldn’t help it. He broke, just for the merest moment before he managed to turn his face stony once more.

“Why did you volunteer to stay?” Lucifer asked.

Gideon didn’t answer, he just held Lucifer’s gaze, keeping his face blank. Expressionless.

“Is it because you care for the girl?” he guessed, his eyes roaming over Gideon’s face, clearly looking for some kind of giveaway. Something he could exploit.

Gideon was determined not to give him what he wanted. He blinked once, slowly, then resumed his impassive expression. Careful not to give Lucifer so much as a whiff of ammunition.

“Oh, you do care for her, don’t you?” Lucifer breathed, smiling.

Not careful enough.

“And does she feel the same about you, I wonder.” He dropped Gideon’s chin, sauntering to his desk, leaning against it, his eyes still on Gideon. “I think not.” He smiled and it made Gideon’s stomach sink. “Unrequited love is so tragic, is it not?”

“It’s not like that,” Gideon said before he could stop himself. He rose, making his expression hard, unyielding. As he approached Lucifer he felt the blood in his hair, covering his face, his neck, his clothes.

His blood. Seth’s blood.

But he was still standing. Seth was safe. With Hope, who didn’t have to shed so much as a drop of her own, thank—well, not God.

“Then tell me, Nephilim, what is it like?” Lucifer crossed his arms, angling his head, every line of his body casual. Unaffected. Taunting. “Do we have a love triangle? Those are always fun, especially when someone gets hurt. And in this case, my money’s on _you_.”

It took every ounce of restraint not to react to that.

“We’re friends,” Gideon growled, his hands clenching into fists. “Nothing more.”

Lucifer held out his hands in surrender, his lips lifting in a mocking smile. “Well, you’ve certainly convinced me.” He straightened and stepped toward Gideon. “Let’s hope your _friendship_ is strong enough that she’s willing to bring me what I want.”

Gideon held his ground. Just. But he couldn’t help but wince when Lucifer placed his hand on Gideon’s shoulder and squeezed. Painfully.

Then Lucifer leaned in, holding Gideon’s gaze with his own until their faces were only inches apart. “If not, I will enjoy breaking you.” He dug his fingers in further and Gideon couldn’t hold back a small grunt of pain.

Lucifer moved in closer, near enough to kiss him. “But for now, I think it’s time for a family reunion.” He squeezed Gideon’s shoulder again, and then the office vanished beneath their feet.

#

Sometime later, Hope awoke. She had no idea what time it was—or even what day it was, really—but she could see daylight shining dimly through the frosted window in front of her. Her neck felt as stiff as the door it rested against—in fact, her whole body felt like it was made of wood. She glanced down at Seth, still asleep; he looked much less pale than he had in Lucifer’s office.

Slowly, carefully, she eased his head off her lap, then groaned as she shifted her legs, persuading them to move, to lift her body up onto her knees, then to stand.

She groaned again as she turned to face the door. She didn’t have her keys and did not feel up to teleporting all the way back to her dorm room to get them. Still, even though she knew it wouldn’t work—she remembered locking up when she and Gideon were here—she grabbed the handle and turned it. As expected, the door was locked, the deadbolt still on, just as she left it. She reached up, touching it with her fingertips, wishing it would just open on its own.

It did.

“You really did think of everything, didn’t you, Raphael?” she muttered as she felt the slight snap, heard the bolt click as it turned, a stunned and relieved smile spreading across her face. She turned the handle again, swinging the door open before kneeling next to Seth. “Seth?” she called softly. He winced but didn’t wake up. “Seth?” she called again, leaning closer. He opened one eye, squinting up at her, disoriented. Then he smiled and opened the other eye.

“You rescued me,” he said, hoarsely. His voice sounded like his larynx had been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

“I did,” she replied, hers not sounding much better. She coughed, then reached forward to help him sit up. “And if we go inside, I have water. Or coffee.” Turning around, she slung one of his arms across her shoulders, leaning against the door jamb as she rose, taking Seth up with her. “Or maybe something stronger,” she grunted.

“I’ll take stronger,” he rasped as they made their way into her apartment. Hope snorted, kicking the door shut behind her. His legs seemed stronger as she led him into the living room, gingerly easing him to the couch, then staggering into the kitchen to make coffee. As it brewed, she went into her room, rummaging around her closet for anything clean and comfortable she might have left behind, finding a pair of faded grey sweatpants—they might have even been from nursing school—and a loose white t-shirt with Tinkerbell across the chest.

Once the coffee was ready, she brought two cups into the living room, pausing at the liquor cabinet to add a generous dollop of whisky into each. She set one cup down for Seth, then sank to the couch beside him, taking a large gulp of her own. Normally, she hated booze in her coffee—she could only taste the burn of alcohol, not the underlying flavor—but just now the burn was what she needed.

“Why, Hope Grayson, I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.” Seth eyed her baggy outfit with a hint of his usual sardonic smile as he sipped his own coffee. She snorted, her hands wrapped around her cup.

“I don’t even think I could muster the energy,” she joked, but it was probably true. Then she gave him a sidelong look, putting her cup on the coffee table. “But I might need to scrape some together to heal you. Let me see your back.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Before he could stop her, she leaned back, gently pushing him toward the edge of the couch, her fingers at his waist. The lash marks were still raw, covered in crusted blood, the surrounding skin an angry, blotchy red. Running the tip of her finger along the deepest gash made Seth wince, hissing in pain, his back arching away from her. She took a deep breath, gathering the small reserve of energy she had, laying her hands lightly along his back. Then, closing her eyes, she felt her hands grow warmer, the light behind her eyelids glowing brighter.

Hope felt herself draining, becoming lightheaded, but she didn’t stop, fighting to maintain focus. She dimly heard Seth say something, but it sounded like it was coming from the other side of the world. Her arms were shaking—no, her whole body was shaking—but she couldn’t stop. Not until he was healed.

“Hope. Stop.” He turned to her, grabbing her wrists, gently pulling her hands away. “I’m better.” She slumped against him, her breathing ragged. His hands left hers to wrap around her body. “Please don’t kill yourself on my account.”

Hope wanted to laugh, but she didn’t have the strength. She didn’t have the strength to do anything but breathe, her heart fluttering in her chest. Then she felt warmth spread along her back beneath Seth’s hands, felt some of her energy returning, her breathing easing, her chest feeling lighter, less constricted. She pulled away, glaring at Seth suspiciously. “Did you—”

“You give some, you get some.” He looked at her sternly, then smirked. “Besides, I’d very much like to kiss you right now but it’s not as much fun when you’re impersonating a corpse.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across her mouth. He did it for her, covering her mouth with his, lightly at first, then with an intensity which took her breath away. She clung to him, wanting to lose herself in the kiss, to forget the last day—hell, to forget the last month. But, hating that she had to do it, she reluctantly pulled away.

“Seth—” His eyes flew open, the colour of an ocean in a storm. She could tell—he knew what she was going to say. And didn’t like what he was about to hear. “I have to go. I have to get the sword from Michael.”

Seth’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes still dark. “He’s not just going to give it to you, you know.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.” She placed her hands on her thighs, preparing to stand when she noticed the ring on her finger. “Oh,” she said, pulling it free. “I was supposed to give this to you.” She grabbed his hand, opening his fingers, placing the ring in his palm—it glowed a brilliant white in his hand. “Az said to say hi,” she said, curling his fingers around the ring.

“I can’t believe she kept it.” His voice was thick as he slipped it onto his own finger, gazing at it like he never expected to see it again. His hand was quite a bit larger than Hope’s, but the ring seemed to adjust itself so that it fit his finger perfectly.

Hope stood and headed for the front door, Seth right behind her. As she reached for the handle, she turned to face him. “The ring must be pretty special, for her to save it for so long.”

He nodded, giving it a brief glance before he turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable.

She needed to go, but she didn’t want to leave. She stepped toward him, placing her hands on his face, leaning into him for one last kiss, not knowing when she’d see him again.

If she’d see him again.

“You stay here. Recover. I’ll return as soon as I can,” she lied, willing her voice not to break. Then, before she lost her nerve, before her eyes could betray her, she spun on her heel, heading for the hallway.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She heard his words just as she vanished, her heart splintering into a thousand pieces.

#

Gabriel whipped her head around, her own startled expression mirrored in Raphael’s. He jerked his head, indicating the spot behind the door; she darted for it just as a shadow appeared in the doorway, then walked in, the light from the hallway revealing only dark hair and dark clothing at their back. The shadow person didn’t seem concerned about finding the cell door open, of if they did, they didn’t let on. Gabriel peeked around the door as the shadow stalked over to Raphael, grabbing his wrist to pull him upright.

“You have a visitor,” said a smooth voice, one Gabriel hadn’t heard in centuries.

Lucifer.

Gabriel heard a soft click, then, in the blaze of light now filling the cell, saw Lucifer standing beside Raphael, an expectant, mocking smile on his lips. Another shadow crossed the threshold, stepping into the room—although Gabriel only saw the back of his head, she knew it was Gideon. Threads of dried blood and grime streaked his hair and clothing.

He’d been in a fight. Or a few of them. Still, he stood steadily enough, so he must have won more than he lost.

Gabriel glanced back at Raphael—and her gut twisted at the look of anguish on his face.

“Nothing like a good old father-son reunion to warm the cockles of the heart, is there, Raphael?” Gabriel couldn’t see Lucifer anymore—Gideon was in the way—but she could hear the taunting cruelty in his voice, knew why it was there. Raphael stared at his son, his expression a mixture of sorrow, regret, and shame.

“So, it is true,” Gideon said softly. “I often…wondered.”

“Well, now you get to wonder no more.” Lucifer practically sang the words. He was _enjoying_ this.

Gabriel ducked back around the door, not able to bear the look in Raphael’s eyes.

“I bet you’re just burning with questions for your dear old dad,” Lucifer said, his voice dripping with derision. “But they’re going to have to wait for now. We have a sword to trade.”

Gabriel waited for Gideon to fight Lucifer. For Raphael to protest. For them to do—something. Anything.

Then she felt it. The emptiness. She peeked around the door, to be sure.

They were gone.

#

Seth stood at Hope’s door for a long time after she left, making sure she didn’t return. Once he was certain she wouldn’t, he walked out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He briefly considered locking it—not that he was looking forward to burning his fingers again—when he heard the deadbolt turn behind him.

Raphael really did think of everything when he warded her apartment.

Seth didn’t bother stopping to change, but, touching the ring on his right hand, he concentrated on locating Azrael, not even sure he could track his half-siblings anymore. It had been so long since he’d tried. He closed his eyes, trying to recall her face: olive skin stretched over high cheekbones; wide violet eyes; full red lips, always curved in an indulgent smile for him. He remembered her long dark hair, remembered running his hands through it when he was younger—God, it was so long ago. The memory triggered the sense of her so strongly he felt it like a static charge. He could practically see her in front of him, sitting at her chair in her office, her hands pressed against the dark mahogany wood desk, concern in her eyes.

And then she was.

His eyes flew open at the rush of air around him and locked with Azrael’s wide-eyed stare. She looked stunned, and with good reason. Seth hadn’t set foot in Heaven for nearly a thousand years. Had been banished when he fell.

A reluctant smile curled one corner of his mouth as he lifted his right hand, showing her the ring. “I got your message,” he said, the thickness in his voice surprising him.

Azrael pressed her hands against the desk as she stood, still looking stunned. Then she raced around the desk, throwing herself into Seth’s arms, nearly knocking them both over.

He chuckled softly as he caught her, hugging her back. “I guess you missed me, huh?”

“Sammy,” she breathed, pulling away, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You don’t know how much—”

“It’s okay.” He pulled her close again. “I know you couldn’t. It’s okay.” He held her like that for a while, stroking her back as if _he_ was the older brother while she silently wept. After a bit, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands, an embarrassed smile on her face.

“I’ve missed you. So much.”

“I missed you, too. More than anyone.” His voice still sounded thick, his own eyes starting to burn—he quickly looked up to stop the tears. “But it’s not why I came.” He lowered his eyes again, gazing over at the desk. “I need your help. Hope—”

“She’s here. With Michael, in the council chamber.”

“I know. She’s going to ask him to give her Gloria. In exchange for the Nephilim.”

“But he can’t—he won’t—”

“I know. It’s why I need you. We need to get to the Neph—”

“Gideon.” Azrael corrected. “He has a name, Sammy.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gideon. We need to get him out before Lucifer realizes Hope isn’t coming back with that sword.” He met her gaze again, a sheepish smile on his face. “But maybe, you can help me find some clean clothes first?”

Azrael returned his smile, rolling her eyes. “Stay here. I’ll talk with Michael, find out what is happening. When I come back, we’ll make a plan to rescue Gideon.” She winked. “And I’ll bring you something decent to wear.”

Once she left, Seth sank into the nearby chair, dropping his head in his hands. He was exhausted, weary in every bone and muscle of his body—he would get Azrael to heal him when she returned.

There was still so much to do.

#

“Michael.” Hope stood in the centre of the council room, hands at her hips. She’d taken just long enough to change into better-fitting clothes, her hair—still streaked with dried blood—tied back into a messy bun at her neck. At least she had managed to sponge off the blood and grime caked onto her skin—she couldn’t wait until she had time to have a proper shower.

“Michael,” she called again, her voice rising with irritation and impatience. Feeling the air move behind her as he arrived, she spun to face him, stepping back, tilting her head to meet his even gaze. “Did you find Raphael?”

He nodded, his expression still impassive.

“Well? Where is he?”

“You rescued Samael,” he said, not answering her question.

She rolled her eyes at him as she nodded.

“Where is Gideon?”

At least now he looked concerned. Hope felt her face tighten as she steeled herself to tell Michael what happened.

“Lucifer has him,” she admitted. Then took a deep breath. “Your sword—” she pointed to Gloria strapped at Michael’s back. “ That’s his ransom.”

Michael’s eyes softened, sorrow and regret stealing across his face. “We’ve learned Raphael is being held in Lucifer’s dungeon. Perhaps Gideon is there now, too. I’ve sent Gabriel to find him; she’ll likely use the same portal she made available to you.” He turned, pressing his hands against the glass table. “Perhaps she will be able to retrieve them both. Perhaps she will be captured, as well. But I cannot let you bring this sword to him.”

Hope made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “I’m not going to let him have it.” She planted her own hands against the table, leaning into them as she held Michael’s eyes. “I’m going to get Gideon back. And Raphael, if he’s still there.” She pushed off her hands, holding them out to Michael, palms up, cold fury in her eyes. “And then I’m going to _run Lucifer through_ with it.”

Michael’s eyes widened at her statement, his dark brows hitching, giving her a long look. “This sword will not work for you, Hope Grayson. At least, not the way you need it to.” He unstrapped the scabbard from his back, placing it in Hope’s outstretched hands with an unreadable expression on his face. “If I were you, I would make sure Raphael or Gabriel is with you when you confront my brother.”

Gloria had been massive at Michael’s back, but it seemed to shrink at her touch, adjusting itself to her size. She stared at the pewter hilt, gazing at the gleaming stones: amethyst, citrine, quartz, hematite, and rose quartz. The same stone as each archangel’s tower.

Then she noticed the two empty settings, one on either end. The uppermost one must have had once contained the stone representing Lucifer—obsidian, if the walls of his tower were any indication. As for the other empty setting, she could only guess it was meant for Seth.

She carefully swung the sheathed sword across her back, tightening the straps so it was secure, the hilt just jutting out over her right shoulder.

“Wish me luck, I guess,” Hope muttered, pulling the strap one last time, feeling automatically for her angel blade at her hip. Just as she prepared to leave, to head for the demon portal, the door opened. Both Michael and Hope snapped their heads up to see Azrael burst in, a wide smile lighting her face.

“He’s home,” was all she said. Hope met her eyes, and, without asking, knew who she meant. Wished she could stay. Instead, she flashed a quick smile to Azrael, silently asking her to keep him safe until she returned.

If she returned.

Azrael nodded, and Hope vanished.

#

Azrael wasn’t gone long. When she returned, with Michael _and_ an armload of clothing, she thrust the pile it at Seth wordlessly, both of them turning so he could change. There was nothing to be done about the dirt and blood in his hair, on his skin, but at least he would be fully covered, if the clothes were bit snug in places. A pair of jeans, creases ironed along the leg, and a blue button-front shirt, the same shade as his eyes.

These clothes must be Raphael’s.

“Okay, I’m dressed. What going on?”

Azrael turned back, meeting Seth’s gaze with her own troubled one, a deep crease between her finely arched eyebrows. Michael’s expression mirrored hers.

“Nothing good. Uriel has betrayed us all. He’s been working with Lucifer for who knows how long. Father only knows what information he’s given him,” Azrael said.

“He lured me to Earth,” said Michael and Seth’s brows shot up—he didn’t think Michael had ever left Heaven before. “He sent Hope and Gideon to find me, to get them out of the way so he could take Raphael, presumably as a hostage to help Lucifer get Gloria—”

“But he—” Seth interrupted, puzzled. Then he frowned, rolling his eyes. “Lucifer always has a plan B. He wanted Raphael in case Hope didn’t come for me.”

Azrael nodded.

Seth sighed. “I have a pretty good idea where Raph is being held.”

Michael nodded. “Uriel implied he was being held in Lucifer’s dungeon. I sent Gabriel to look for him.”

Seth closed his eyes, talking a deep breath. “He could have been right beside me,” he said softly, lowering his head. Then he lifted it again, snatching the jacket from the desk, shrugging it onto his shoulders. Thank goodness Raphael didn’t like form-fitting clothes; it was nearly too snug to get over his shoulders. “I’m going to look for Gabriel. See if she found Raphael. Then we’ll find the Nephilim.” _If he’s still alive_ , he didn’t say.

“Wait.” The tone of Michael’s voice make Seth snap his head up. “I gave Gloria to her.”

“You _what_?” He asked. He can’t have heard that correctly.

Michael would never—but he _did_.

Seth knew, because Michael would also never lie. “Why the devil would you do that?”

“Because she said she was going to run him through with it.” The merest hint of smile touched Michael’s lips. “I believe those were her exact words.”

“But she’s—it won’t work for her.” Seth just caught himself. He had no idea if Michael knew who she really was. What she really was. This wasn’t the time to reveal it.

“I imagine the pointy end still stabs well enough, even if it doesn’t activate,” Azrael said, her own full lips stretching into a smile.

Seth raised one eyebrow but didn’t say anything as he reached into an inside pocket of the jacket, to find an angel blade tucked inside. He glanced up at Azrael and her smile grew wider.

Seth had to look away. Couldn’t think right now about the trust that implied. He just needed to just be grateful for the weapon.

He would probably end up needing it.

“Sammy.” Seth looked up, locking his eyes with Azrael’s, worry in her eyes. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” he said to her. Then, nodding once at Michael, he left.

Seth arrived in the dungeon just in time to see Gabriel’s head peeking out from the doorway of one of the cells. She started when she spotted him, then flashed a quick smile of relief as she emerged, pulling the door shut behind her. He walked toward her, stooping to retrieve a bow just outside another cell—it must have been the Nephilim’s. He held it loosely at his hip, waiting for Gabriel to reach him.

“Sammy.” She embraced him, her head barely reaching his chest. “It’s been too long.” He let himself hold her for just a moment—they didn’t have time to catch up.

“I take it Raphael isn’t here,” he said, pulling away from her to look at the door behind her. Gabriel shook her head, her brown curls swaying across her shoulders. Then she filled him in on what she had seen from behind the door.

“They’ll be in his office,” he said, once she was finished. “He’ll want Hope to see them, to know he has them both. We need to get up there. Now. Before he tricks her into giving up the sword.” He grabbed Gabriel’s hand, then paused as everything she said caught up to him.

“That Nephilim is truly Raphael’s son?”

Gabriel nodded, slowly.

Seth smirked—he couldn’t help it. He had suspected, when he saw them both, but still—

“I didn’t think the old man had it in him.” He squeezed her hand, and they vanished.

#

Hope yanked on the handle to Lucifer’s office. Shoved the door open as she stormed inside. Then stopped dead.

She was standing in her living room. Well, not _her_ living room, but the room was identical. The same chocolate brown sofa to her right. Same coffee table in front of it, strewn with magazines and video game controllers. Same liquor cabinet to her left. Even the same wall separating the small kitchen from the living room.

Lucifer had managed to throw her the last time he did this, though she’d tried her best not to show it. This time, it just pissed her off.

“Lucifer.” She stalked to the center of the room, reaching behind her to clutch Gloria’s hilt. “This bullshit won’t work on me anymore. I have the sword, so come out you fucking coward.”

“My, my, such anger. Did you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Lucifer asked as he emerged from behind the wall. He gave her a brief appraising look, then frowned, strolling to her liquor cabinet and pouring a drink. Then crossed the room to stand in front of Hope, a derisive smile lifting his lips. “Oh, wait, where are my manners? So sorry.” He held out the glass to her.

It was all Hope could do not to smack it from his hand.

Instead, she gripped the handle of the sword more tightly. Glared at him, poised to pull it from its scabbard. His smile widened as he watched her. A cat toying with its prey.

“The terms of our bargain have changed,” she said softly, using the words he’d used with her. “You will bring Gideon to me. And if you have Raphael, you will bring him to me as well. Then maybe, if I’m feeling generous, I won’t kill you with Gloria myself.”

“Oh, you do have such little faith. Why, they’re both right here.” He walked around her to stand behind the couch, snapping his fingers.

Gideon and Raphael appeared, bound and gagged, perched on either end of the sofa. They both looked around, confused about where they were. But their identical blue eyes darkened simultaneously when they realized they weren’t actually in Hope’s apartment.

Their hair hung in tangled strands on their faces, streaked with dirt and old blood, their clothes stained and torn. But they appeared uninjured.

“Now. I have more than kept up my end of the bargain.” Lucifer made his way back to Hope. Bent to place his glass on the coffee table. Then stood in front of her, arms out, palms up. “Give me the sword.”

“No.” Hope narrowed her eyes further, sliding Gloria from her scabbard—just a little. “You’re not going to get your war. You’re not going to get this sword.” She slid the blade out a bit further. Stepped closer to Lucifer. “You’re not getting anything. You lost.” She pulled the blade free in one move.

And thrust the point at Lucifer’s neck.

Lucifer’s face twisted, his black eyes blazing. He glanced down at the sword. Then raised his eyes, one side of his mouth curling up in a sneer. “You can’t kill me with this, you silly little girl,” he spat. “You’re not strong enough.”

He reached up, gripping the blade. Then pulled it aside, heedless of the golden blood dripping from his fingers as he grabbed for the hilt with his other hand.

Hope jerked back to get it out of his reach. But he was faster, his hand closing around the hilt beside hers, pulling her close.

The sword blazed to life in his hand, the brilliance of the blade blinding her as he let go of the metal. He wrenched at the sword, shoving her back.

He was too strong—Hope felt her grip loosen as she fell back, landing ungracefully on her ass. Then looked up to see Lucifer stand over her, a look of vicious triumph on his face, Gloria gleaming brilliantly in his hands.

And aimed right at her heart.

The door banged open behind her. Lucifer glanced up for just a moment, startled. Hope used the brief distraction to roll away from him, springing up to her feet. Then whirled to face the door.

To see Gabriel and Seth standing in the doorway, an angel blade in their hands.

Seth strode toward her, Lucifer following his movement with his eyes. Gabriel dashed around to Gideon and Raphael, beginning to untie them.

Lucifer’s eyes blazed with anger, his eyes locked on Seth’s. “You’re fired,” he breathed, shifting Gloria to point it at Seth. Hope could just see the obsidian stone gleaming darkly above Lucifer’s hand.

His stone.

However, as much fun as it would be to thrust this through your traitorous heart, I’m afraid I have other plans.” Lucifer lowered the blade, snapping his fingers. The office returned to its usual décor, Gideon and Raphael tumbling to the floor in front of Lucifer’s desk. Gabriel knelt, still working on the cord around Raphael’s wrists. Gideon, his arms already free, bent to untie the rope around his ankles, his limp hair hanging in his face.

Lucifer glanced behind him, assessing their progress before he turned his dark eyes to Hope, barely able to contain his glee. “I have the sword. You fulfilled your end of the bargain—willing or not. He’s _yours_ ,” he sneered, flinging his hand out to indicate Gideon, who had his hand braced against the desk, using it to stand.

“And as for my war, why, it’s already begun.” He paused, waiting for her reaction. Hope glared at him, trying to keep her body from shaking. To keep her terror from showing on her face.

But she failed.

His face twisted into a grin, making Hope’s gut clench. “And very soon, I’ll have my revenge. Better hurry if you don’t want to miss all the fun.”

Then he was gone.


	26. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope surged forward, her blade gleaming scarlet in her hand as she swung it in an arc toward Lucifer's chest. Faster than she could see, he dodged it, his dagger sweeping low, slicing through her clothes, the bite of metal stinging her skin. She glanced down, noting the line of blood across her belly, then looked back up just in time to dodge another sweep of his arm, throwing her head back as she sidestepped away from him.  
> “Raphael has taught you well,” he said, not even remotely out of breath.  
> “You should see me when I haven’t been chasing your evil ass for the last day and a half.” She focused her eyes on his, waiting for the sign, the glimmer in his eye before he struck again. Instead, he threw back his head and chuckled. She lunged forward, but as she swung, his blade clashed with hers, his right hand grabbing her wrist, wrenching it down, hard. He squeezed again and she dropped her blade, heard it clatter against the citrine stone at her feet. He pulled her closer, his face inches from hers, ruthless victory glittering in his black eyes.  
> “You should have sided with me, Hope Grayson.” His lips brushed hers as she felt his blade plunge into her belly.  
> Then—darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The big boss battle.  
> A lot happens.

“Do you hear something?” Azrael asked, looking over at Michael as they sat in the council chambers waiting for someone, anyone to return with news. She was growing impatient—the longer they waited, the more she worried something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

Then she heard a commotion from below. Michael threw her a worried glance as they both sprang from their chairs, running over to the glass walls, peering down into the lobby of the Hall of Protection.

Demons. A stream of them, pouring in through the door. And there was only one way they could have gotten in.

Someone from Earth had opened a portal for them—and Azrael had a pretty good idea who it was.

“By the heavens!” Michael pressed his hands against the glass, leaning further as if he would be able to see better. Then he straightened, his expression thunderous. “I’ll raise the alarm. You find Hope and Gideon if—” he paused, not continuing the thought, _if they’re still alive_. “We need Gloria back.”

Azrael nodded, heading for the door, hearing Michael right behind her.

She turned to him just as he closed his eyes and laid his hand against the wall, the light shifting from a soft, amethyst glow to a bright glare before dimming to near darkness. Then again.

Once the alarm was activated, Michael let his hand drop and returned to the window, frustration and helplessness in every tense line of his body.

That was Azrael’s cue to leave. But not to search for Gideon or Hope.

She needed to find that portal and shut it down.

Immediately.

#

Hope rushed over to Gideon and Raphael, Seth right behind her. She knelt before Gideon, clutching his arms, searching his face. Once his eyes met hers, he gave her a brief nod to tell her he was all right. She blew out a huge breath, one she didn’t realize she was holding. Let one hand slide to his wrist, tugging him up with her as she stood, Gabriel doing the same with Raphael.

“We need to get to Michael,” said Seth. “Lucifer is going to go right for him. We need to stop him.” He glanced over at Gideon, offering him the bow in his hand. “I believe this is yours.”

Gideon reached for it, slinging it over his shoulder as Seth took Hope’s hand.

“Gideon and I will go to the training room for extra ammunition. We will meet you at the Hall of Protection,” said Raphael. Hope glanced over at him and, while his clothes were still filthy, the grit from his skin and hair was gone. Almost like he’d bathed and put those dirty clothes back on.

Must be nice to be an archangel, to just erase the grime like a bad idea. Hope couldn’t wait until she had time for a long, hot shower.

But she’d have to. For God only knew how long.

“I’ll go with Raphael,” said Gabriel. “But first—” She stepped toward Hope and Gideon, arms outstretched.

Hope closed her eyes. Took a deep breath, steeling herself for the jolt. She still jumped when the energy erupted through her body.

She would need all the help she could get if she was going to go toe-to-toe with Lucifer. And she knew—she would.

She just hoped she’d be strong enough this time.

#

It was still dark when Azrael finally found the open portal, cursing herself at her foolishness—of course it would be the one closest to Hope’s home. Lucifer would want Hope to feel responsible, like this was her fault, simply for existing.

Azrael peered around a large cedar tree, hugging it as she took in the cluster of possessed humans, infernal daggers in their hands as they stepped through the portal in groups of three and four.

Standing at the portal, keeping it open, a look of arrogant triumph lighting his face, was Uriel. Azrael suspected; it was why she was here. But to see her brother’s betrayal in person—

Azrael felt a rush of anger so powerful it took all her self-control to not run her sword right between his eyes, wiping the smug smile off his face. Instead, she continued to watch him. Although his expression didn’t change, his shoulders started to slump, his hands trembling. He was tiring.

Only—

Azrael reached behind her, closing her hand around the hilt of her sword as she strode from the forest, heading for the clearing. There were only a few demons left here—Heaven must have been crawling with them by now. Silently drawing her sword from her sheath, she crept up to the last of them lined up near the portal, then swung, her blade moving too swiftly for human eyes to detect.

Even possessed, not strictly mortal, they were still too slow, and the two in front of her lost their heads in one strike; they rolled to the side but she didn’t wait for them to bounce to the ground before she lunged forward and struck again, beheading the next group of three demons just before they were able to walk through.

Uriel’s eyes widened as he looked from the crumpling bodies to Azrael, just as she thrust her sword up, the tip at Uriel’s throat.

“Give me one reason not to take you out, you traitorous motherfucker.” She pressed the blade until a small bead of blood appeared—human blood. Uriel swallowed and a narrow crimson trail trickled down his neck. Azrael raised her left hand and flicked her wrist, closing the portal. Too late, but it cut off Uriel’s route of escape.

“You might as well do it,” he said, his pale eyes now flashing with disgust as he stepped into the sword, the stream of blood growing larger.

But she didn’t. Instead, Azrael lowered the sword, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Michael made you human,” she said, fighting the urge to laugh at the perfection of Uriel’s punishment. “I thought he’d banished you, maybe even took your wings and sent you to Hell. But oh—” She sheathed her sword. “This is so much better. Turning you into the thing you despise most.” She paused, angling her head. “How did you open the portal, though?”

“Why should I tell you?” Uriel sneered.

Azrael shrugged and rolled her eyes, stepping back. It didn’t matter. Not really. Only that it was closed now. As long as he couldn’t reopen—

“Wait,” he said, pulling a small vial from his pocket, a couple drops of golden fluid gleaming at the bottom. “I used this to open it.”

Azrael frowned at the vial, then looked at him in alarm. “Did you—” she breathed, not wanting to hear the answer.

“Of course not.” He shook his head. “Remiel gave it to me. Willingly, I promise.” He stepped toward Azrael, hand outstretched. “Sister, please. Show some compassion—heaven knows Michael has precious little of it. Take me with you, convince him to turn me back. This is a punishment worse than death.”

Azrael flinched away from him. “You can’t possibly be serious. You gave Raphael over to Lucifer, tried to have Michael killed, just finished bringing _demons_ into Heaven—and now you have the unmitigated _gall_ to plead for mercy?” She stared him down for a moment, her whole body vibrating with disgust.

Then she turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. To be anywhere near him. She closed her eyes, preparing to leave.

“Michael isn’t going to win this,” he sneered. “You’re on the losing side. When Lucifer wins, he’ll turn me back. And then I’ll show you the same compassion you have shown me.”

Azrael turned her head, ready to make an angry retort, but instead she felt a surprising jolt of pity. “You got what you deserved, Uriel,” she said softly, her eyes burning. “When I see you again, it’ll be to take you before Peter. And may Father have mercy on your soul.”

#

Gideon, Raphael, and Gabriel arrived outside the training room—to a cacophony of shouts, the clang of metal on metal. Tossing an alarmed glance at Raphael, Gideon raced to the railing, leaning down to look over the lobby. It was crawling with demons, the blades in their hands glowing a deep, blood red.

A group of angels fought them, daggers and swords flying. The yellow walls pulsed, throwing the entire area into brilliant golden light before dimming to near darkness, over and over.

Dead bodies scattered at the angels’ feet, black-red demon blood mingling with glimmering gold, flowing in thick streams across the floor. Long blond hair fanned across pools of the stuff, white robes stained maroon and gold. Visibly outnumbered, the angels’ non-magical weapons were no match for the infernal blades the demons wielded. Still, they fought fearlessly.

Gideon raced to the door of the training room, slamming his hand against it, stalking straight for the weapons cabinet. He snatched every dagger hanging from both doors, throwing open the drawers, stuffing his belt with knives. He thrust a sword into Raphael’s hands—along with a couple of daggers. Then, slinging a new, full quiver over his shoulder, he seized another, handing a bow and quiver to Gabriel. Without waiting for them to follow, he spun, flying out the door to the rail, bow at the ready, arrow already notched. By the time Gabriel joined him and started firing, his quiver was half-empty.

#

Hope and Seth found Michael in the council chamber, his body pressed against the glass wall, looking down on the battle below. The purple walls pulsed with light, throwing his face into momentary relief before plunging into near darkness.

He spun at the sound of them then slammed his hand against the wall, stopping the alarm.

“You do not have the sword,” Michael said with unnatural calm.

Hope bowed her head. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, her body hot and flushed with fresh shame.

“Lucifer must have it then.” Michael’s soft, defeated voice cut Hope deeper than if he’d roared at her. “It’s over.”

“No, brother,” Seth protested, his voice hoarse. “We can still protect you. If he cannot find you, he cannot win.”

“And what shall I do, then? Go into hiding?” The venom in Michael’s voice made Hope lift her head. “That will keep me alive, but the result will be unchanged. There will be no one to stop him, to prevent him from taking over. And Uriel—”

“We can still fight. There are more of us—”

“Gloria is the most powerful weapon in creation.” Michael snapped, running a hand down his face. “In Lucifer’s hands—”

“Then why did you give it to me?” Hope cried, taking a step toward Michael. Seth reached out, grabbing her upper arm, trying to pull her back. She fought him, leaning into Michael, standing on her toes to bring her face closer to his. “If it’s so fucking important, so crucial to this fucking war, why did you let me take it to him?”

“Because I had faith in you!” Michael roared. “We all did! Because of that infernal prophesy!”

“Fuck the prophesy! I’m not your goddamned messiah!” Hope yelled back, her frustration and humiliation reaching a breaking point. “I’m not your chosen one! I’m not good enough to be. I’m—” Hope pursed her lips together. Something—her last ounce of self-preservation maybe? Whatever it was, it stopped her from saying anything more.

“I couldn’t stop him.” With an effort, she willed her breathing to slow. Then dropped onto her heels, stepping back, letting Seth pull her away from Michael. “Maybe your faith in me was misplaced,” she said, nearly too quiet for anyone to hear.

“Ah, but mine wasn’t.”

Lucifer.

He stood in the doorway, Gloria drawn at his side. “Everything is turning to ash as we speak. There’s only one thing left to do.” He raised the sword, his black eyes fixed on Michael. Then he rushed at him.

“No!” Hope dashed around the table to put herself between Gloria and Michael, but Seth beat her to it, his back to Michael, his arms outstretched. Hope shoved her arms out, energy pulsing from her palms toward the sword as Lucifer lunged forward.

She was a second too late.

Seth grunted and dropped to his knees, Gloria embedded in his chest to the hilt, wrapping his hands feebly around the stones.

“No! Seth!” Hope screamed, falling to her knees beside him, her hands closing around his. “Don’t pull it out,” she commanded, resisting his efforts. “You’ll bleed out.” Then she turned her head, her eyes meeting Lucifer’s.

They glittered with spite. With victory.

But he hadn’t won yet.

She glared at Lucifer, the hilt of Gloria still in her hands becoming slippery with glimmering red blood. Seth’s blood. “The sword is ours again. You’ll never get it back. If you’re smart, you’ll return to Hell where you belong.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a vicious smile as he drew a dagger from his side. It gleamed a deep, ruby red in his hand. “You think I came unprepared? That sword isn’t the only thing that can kill an archangel, you know, even one as _powerful_ —” His lips curled at the word. “As my brother.”

Lucifer turned his gaze to Michael, Hope unable to tear her eyes away. “Father always loved _me_ more. I was the eldest, the smartest, the most powerful. You were _always_ second best. That is, until I would not bow to these—” he flicked the point of the blade in Hope’s direction “— _creatures_.”

“Father’s love for mortals was sickening, and it was his greatest mistake—well, that and giving them free will. Look what they do with it—fighting amongst themselves, killing each other, exploiting each other for greed and wealth.” Lucifer raised the blade once more. “It’s been fun to take advantage of their weakness, to revel in their pain and regret. But you know, it’s grown tedious of late.” He smiled but it was sharp and cold and devoid of any humor. “It’s time to crush the anthill.”

Lucifer lunged again, throwing the infernal blade across the room, aimed right at Michael’s heart. Michael thrust his hands up to shield his chest.

He needn’t have bothered.

Hope flung her arms out, the blade hovering in the air between Lucifer and Michael. She rotated her right hand, making the blade spin, changing direction in midair. Then she lowered her other hand, flicking her fingers in Lucifer’s direction. The blade followed suit, reversing course.

And struck empty air, clattering to the floor.

Lucifer was gone.

Hope turned back to Seth—his face was grey, pale, his eyes shut. Gloria still impaled his chest, blood seeping from the wound. She looked up to see Michael drop to the floor beside Seth, his arms outstretched.

But she didn’t want to wait to see if he was able to heal Seth. Couldn’t consider the possibility he wouldn’t. Instead, she leapt up, lunging for infernal blade.

Scarlet light flared from it.

Her eyes flicked to Michael who had one hand on Gloria’s hilt, pulling the sword free, the other pressed against Seth’s chest. He wasn’t looking at her, didn’t notice that she was able to wield both blades. She left before he could see.

To find Lucifer. And kill him.

#

Gideon reached back, but his quiver was empty. Same with the one at his feet. He tossed his bow down, grabbing a throwing knife from his belt.

Gabriel still had a couple of arrows left. She couldn’t remember the last time she had to fight. And she was rusty. Took longer to aim. She waited until the arrow hit home before drawing another.

Still, she remembered the thrill of battle. The way time seemed to slow down even as everything happened all at once. The satisfaction of watching your arrow sail through the air, landing exactly on your target.

Especially when your target was a demon.

The number of demonic bodies had finally started to outnumber the angelic ones. But Gideon and Gabriel had been using regular arrows, intending to stop instead of kill. They wanted to have the possibility of exorcising the vessels and healing them later.

Still, the puddles and streams of black-red blood grew until the floor looked like it was made from it. The line of demons seemed endless. One fell, to be replaced by another, infernal blade drawn—

Gideon gasped. Gabriel snapped her head to him, following his gaze down into the lobby. Her own breath caught in her throat.

The man below looked human at first. Middle-aged. Tall. A ring of greying hair over each ear. His belly straining against his suit, now covered in black and gold streaks and spatters. But his eyes—that ethereal emerald green she had only seen once before.

“Asmodeus,” she breathed, leaning forward, clutching the rail.

“No. He’s mine.” Gideon backed away from the rail, drawing his angel blade. “And this time I’ll kill him.”

He took a running start, then leapt over the rail.

#

“Here? Seriously?” Hope landed on the roof of the Hall of Healing, the sun just starting to rise over Lucifer’s head. He was pressed against the rail, his back to her, his head lifted to meet the light. Slowly he turned to face her, his dark eyes gleaming as they flickered to the infernal blade in her hand.

“You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen the sun rise. At least a millennium, maybe more.” He tipped his head, arching his back, closing his eyes, no trace of cruelty in his expression. He would almost look like a cat in the sun only—

“I suppose you’re here to kill me. To fulfill your destiny to be ‘the salvation of Heaven and Earth.’”

“You killed _Samael_. He was your second in command and you drove Gloria right through him.”

He straightened at that, fixing his eyes on hers.

“He hasn’t been _mine_ in quite some time.” Detaching himself from the rail, he stepped toward her, looking dejected. Almost…heartbroken. “Even before he met you, I felt a change in Samael. His heart just…hasn’t been in it. To tell you the truth, I think he started to regret joining me in the first place.”

Hope had no idea what to do. She expected him to fight her. To attack. She wasn’t prepared for a confession. “Why are you telling me this? Do you expect sympathy?” She raised the infernal blade, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “Or is this another one of your manipulations?”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes glittering in the reflection of the sun off the spire behind her—but Hope could still see a glimmer of sadness in their depths. “Almost had you going, didn’t I?” He raised his hand, an infernal blade appearing in it, seemingly from nowhere. “There’s still time, you know. You could change your mind. Join me. I could even bring your lover back from the dead,” he said, angling his head.

Hope couldn’t help it—she flinched at the word ‘dead’.

Lucifer caught it, his smile growing brighter as he moved closer. “Between you and me, I think your side’s losing. Right now, Asmodeus is down there—” he pointed to his feet “—laying waste to whatever army my siblings can muster up. Angels are lovers, not fighters, I’m afraid.”

“I will never join you. Even if you kill me right here. Even if I end up in Hell. I will—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Lucifer rolled his eyes as he twirled his blade in his hand. “Just giving you the option. Father always was a big one for free will and all that.” He planted his feet, dagger raised, the crimson of the blade illuminating the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. Then, lifting and curling the fingers of his right hand, he urged her to come at him.

Hope surged forward, her own blade gleaming scarlet in her hand as she swung it in an arc toward his chest. Faster than she could see, he dodged it, his dagger sweeping low, slicing through her clothes, the bite of metal stinging her skin. She glanced down, noting the line of blood across her belly, then looked back up just in time to dodge another sweep of his arm, throwing her head back as she sidestepped away from him.

“Raphael has taught you well,” he said, not even remotely out of breath. Hope pushed a lock of hair out of her face as she turned back to face him.

“You should see me when I haven’t been chasing your evil ass for the last day and a half.” She focused her eyes on his, waiting for the sign, the glimmer in his eye before he struck again. Instead, he threw back his head and chuckled. She lunged forward, but as she swung, his blade clashed with hers, his right hand grabbing her wrist, wrenching it down, hard. He squeezed again and she dropped her blade, heard it clatter against the citrine stone at her feet. He pulled her closer, his face inches from hers, ruthless victory glittering in his black eyes.

“You should have sided with me, Hope Grayson.” His lips brushed hers as she felt his blade plunge into her belly.

Then—darkness.

#

Hope was dying.

She wrapped her hands around the infernal blade in her abdomen, felt the blood on the blade, too slippery for her to grasp. She knew she shouldn’t pull it out, but it _burned_ , the red glow of the blade like fire. With an effort, she opened her eyes, lifting them once more to look at Lucifer, to see his lips stretched in a vicious, victorious grin, his black eyes gleaming.

She stared at him. Knew that this would be her last memory, that this is what someone would see if they could somehow crack her skull apart and split her mind open.

That he won.

And she lost.

But—

Her vision must be going hazy because it looked like a sword plunging through Lucifer’s chest from behind, right where his heart would be.

It was.

Lucifer crumpled to the ground, a look of surprise frozen on his face. She couldn’t see who wielded the weapon—the sun was too bright, her vision too blurry. But she saw the sword land beside her, still jutting from Lucifer’s back. Glanced at the final setting on the hilt, could just make out the violet and green stone nestled within it.

The sword was complete.

She let her head fall back against the spire, her eyes slamming shut. Felt the infernal blade pulled from her body, warm hands covering the wound, growing hotter by the second. The light behind her closed lids flared as the pain in her belly eased. Then disappeared, skin and muscle stitching itself together.

“Hope.” Warm breath on her face. The smell of blood and sweat, with just a trace of a now-familiar scent. But Seth was—

Her eyes flew open.

Seth knelt in front of her, his face millimetres from hers. Smiling into her eyes, he kissed her, briefly. But it was enough, her bone-deep exhaustion evaporating. He helped her up to sit against the spire as he reached over to pull Gloria from Lucifer’s body, golden blood dripping from the blade. He stood and wiped it off on Lucifer’s dark suit, then brought her up against him.

“ _You_.” Hope pulled back, her eyes searching his. And finding the answer. “I’m not the one from the prophesy. You are.”

“No.” Seth pressed a gentle kiss to Hope’s forehead. “We both are.”

Of course. The angelic and profane. Contained within them both—but in such different ways.

“We’re bound, you and me,” Seth said, giving her a wink. “I completed Gloria—” he turned the sword, presenting the hilt to her “—but you must wield her.” His eyes were quicksilver as he smiled at her, his dark hair swinging into his face. “Your work isn’t over yet.”

Hope took the sword, watching as it blazed to life in her hand before lowering it. Then she stepped forward to kiss Seth one more time, pressing her mouth against his, her other hand cupping the back of his head briefly before she drew away. “Wait for me?” she asked.

“Always.”

#

Gideon landed on the floor in a crouch, hitting one of the few corpse-free spots on the blood-stained floor. He spun to face Asmodeus, who looked down at him, a grin stretching across his pasty face. “Ah, the Nephilim nuisance,” he said in his gravelly voice, his infernal blade glowing a deep, dark red in his hand, darker than the blades of the other demons. “But where is my daughter? I so hoped for a family reunion.”

“Too bad,” Gideon said, raising his blade. “She’s probably killing your boss as we speak.” He desperately wished he was right.

But Asmodeus just chuckled. “I would know if my master was dead, whelp.” His smile grew wider, and with a lazy wave of his hand, the demons around him rushed forward, heading right for Gideon. Without blinking, he grabbed a throwing knife from his belt and tossed it, hitting the nearest demon right between the eyes, not waiting for it to crumple to the floor before drawing another knife. A second later, it went flying, striking its target in the gut. The demon doubled over, was trampled by the one behind it. Again and again he threw knives like he was playing a deadly game of darts, downing demon after demon as he slowly backed up, keeping his distance from Asmodeus as he advanced toward Gideon.

Then Gideon’s belt was empty, his legs bumping against the desk behind him. He was out of knives, his only weapon the angel blade still in his hand. And he was trapped. He jumped up and back, landing on the desk, backing up to drop behind it as Asmodeus reached him.

He flashed Gideon a vicious smile, his eyes—so like Hope’s—glittering with contempt as he raised his blade, the reflected light like blood on his shoulder. Gideon did the same, aiming his angel blade at Asmodeus’s head, knowing he was staking his life on being able to strike faster. That he would probably lose. Their eyes locked, each searching for the tell, the give away that the other was preparing to attack.

Then the desk thudded as Hope landed, thrusting Gloria into Asmodeus’s skull.

#

Hope planted her foot on Asmodeus’s shoulder to kick him back as she pulled Gloria free, black blood dripping off the gleaming blade—and down his face as he collapsed. It pooled around his head as Hope glanced down, smiling in fierce satisfaction as the brilliance of his eyes dulled, making him look—almost human. Then she whirled, crouching, hand out to help Gideon climb back onto the desk.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, looking down, stunned. Then he whistled, a wicked grin stealing across his face. “You just killed your father.”

“He was no father to me.” Her smile died as she uncurled her fingers from around Gloria’s hilt to show Gideon, raising her left to balance the blade, blood staining her hands like ink. “Look at the stones.”

Gideon leaned forward. And stared. “How—” he paused, then looked up at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her thumb over the bottommost stone, the one furthest from the blade. Seth’s stone. “I do know what to do with it, though. Now that it’s complete.” She closed her hands around the hilt again, the blade turning incandescent, burning off the remaining blood.

“Woah,” Gideon said. “But it’s not supposed to—”

“I know.” She faced the lobby once more, planting her feet on the desk, raising the blade high, pointing the tip toward the roof far above. “But it does.” She closed her eyes, concentrating, feeling the familiar warmth build in her hands, the same warmth that came when she was healing, the noise of clashing weapons falling away. The hilt grew warm, then hot, the light of the blade flaring brighter, turning her eyelids red.

She opened her eyes to see the light from the blade blasting everywhere, striking the citrine walls, filling the entire lobby with a dazzling golden glow. Hope and Gideon both turned their heads away, blinking rapidly against the glare.

Then something happened in Hope’s peripheral vision. She whipped her head back just in time to see a swirling shadow rise from one of the bodies on the floor. Then another, and another, until the lobby was filled with a great cloud of black nothingness. The darkness melted under the blazing light of the blade, like storm clouds burned off by the sun, revealing small shining lights, in a rainbow of colors. They looked like scattered fireworks as they slowly rose higher and higher toward the ceiling of the hall.

“What the—” Gideon murmured, his eyes wide, his pupils reflecting the lights just as some of them fell like shooting stars, plunging themselves back into their bodies. Hope felt her own eyes widen, barely able to believe what she saw.

“Souls.” Raphael stood behind them—Hope whirled at his voice. His expression, usually so serious and guarded, was open now, relief glowing from every smooth plane of his face. “You freed them. Reversed the corruption the demons had all but completed. Those ones—” he pointed at the lights floating through the ceiling “—belonged to bodies which have been mortally wounded. The others—” he pointed to where the falling lights collapsed into their bodies “—will need to be healed.”

“I can—” Hope started to say, but Raphael shook his head, gripping her upper arm, his face serious once more.

“Gabriel and I will assist them. Return them to Earth.” He turned to Gideon. “You and Hope must recover Lucifer’s body and bring it to the council chamber. To Michael.” He released her arm, preparing to leave.

“Lucifer’s _body_?” asked Gideon as he turned to Hope, incredulous. “You killed him?”

Hope shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was—”

“Me.” Seth appeared beside Hope, a small smile curling one side of his mouth as he leaned toward her. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck. She felt her face grow hot.

Gideon glanced at him, then back at Hope. “How?”

“We can discuss that later,” said Raphael. “Now that you are here Samael, you can assist Hope in bringing the body to Michael so he may prepare it. Gideon, you will assist us instead.” He turned to go, but Hope reached for his arm this time, stopping him.

“Prepare it?” Hope asked. That sounded…weird.

“The death of an archangel is—significant. There are rites to prepare, and the body must be washed and anointed properly.”

Hope’s brows shot up, her mouth falling open. Lucifer tried to destroy Heaven and Earth, and Raphael was concerned about his _funeral_?

Raphael’s face softened, his eyes filling with sorrow, darkening to cobalt. “Despite everything, he is—was—still my brother.” He cleared his throat, his face impassive once more. “We all have our tasks. And once they are completed—”

“Please say we can have a shower and get some rest,” Gideon said, running his hand through his matted, tangled hair, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion. A hint of a smile touched Raphael’s face as he nodded, leaping from the desk toward the wounded, Gideon following.

Seth took Hope’s hand, teleporting them to the roof of the hall, the sun blazing down on them, reflecting off the spire to her right. She blinked a couple of times, then looked down, her hand clutching Seth’s tightly as she stared.

Lucifer’s body was gone, his dried golden angel blood the only sign he was ever there.


	27. Interesting Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hope. Samael.” Michael waved them both to seats across from him at the table in the council chamber.  
> Hope took the middle seat beside Gideon, Seth taking the one on the other side of her, reaching for her hand. She glanced over at him, then up at the softly glowing amethyst light, then down where it reflected across the glass table.  
> It really was pretty. Especially when her boyfriend wasn’t being impaled beneath it.  
> Gabriel and Azrael were seated to her left, Raphael to her right, an empty seat beside him.  
> Uriel’s seat.  
> Hope glanced at it, meeting Raphael’s eyes as she pulled her chair closer to the table, his expression difficult to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fallout.  
> A reunion.  
> And—a wedding.

Hope rolled over in bed, swinging her arm across it to clutch the throw pillow that was usually there, the one she used to block the light filtering through the curtains at the balcony window.

Her arm draped across something else instead.

Something firmer. No, not something. Someone. She cracked an eye open, meeting a pair of steel-blue ones gazing at her, lips curved in a smile.

“It lives,” Seth said, his smile growing.

“Very funny.” Hope frowned as she opened the other eye, propping herself up on her elbow. “How long have I—have we—been sleeping?”

“About a day.” He reached to stroke a finger along her nose. “Give or take.”

Then she remembered. Telling Michael about Lucifer’s body, then coming home, insisting on taking a shower before heading to bed. Being so exhausted she nearly fell over in the bathtub. Seth helping her out, drying her off, dressing her in—something. She lifted the covers, looking down to see she was wearing a dark blue silk shift.

“Interesting choice,” she remarked, lifting her head, smirking at him.

“It was all I could find.” He reached over, wrapping his arm around her waist, bringing her closer. “I’m not regretting it though.” He slid his hand up to cover her shoulder blade, leaning closer to brush her lips with his. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his, her hand landing on his chest before sliding up to his collarbone, digging her nails in the hollow just behind it. His breath hitched against her mouth, his fingers curling into her upper back at her spine. She flicked her tongue against his upper lip, once. Then she pulled away, making him groan in protest.

He’d clearly been awake for awhile—long enough to brush his teeth, anyway. Hope slid off the bed to do the same, making a pot of coffee at the same time. She shivered as she slid back under the covers, but quickly warmed up against Seth’s body as he kissed her deeply, thoroughly.

“What do I call you now?” She asked, pulling back.

His eyes flew open, pupils wide. “You have the worst timing for questions, you know,” he growled. He pressed his fingers against her back, trying to bring her closer, but she resisted, an evil smile on her face.

“Why did you tell me your name was Seth? At the coffee shop.”

Seth groaned again, rolling his eyes.

“Because Samael isn’t exactly a common name.” He ran his nails slowly down her spine, making her shudder as he pressed her chest against his, his lips brushing one corner of her mouth before moving along her jawline to her neck.

“You could have used Sam,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

“No, I couldn’t.” His voice was firm, his breath tickling her neck. Right before he sank his teeth into the hollow right at her pulse point.

“Sammy, then,” she gasped, dragging her own nails along his spine, feeling the muscles of his back ripple against her fingers.

He left a trail of butterfly-light kisses as his lips moved back to hers. “Only my sisters get to call me that,” he murmured against her mouth, hovering there, just barely touching her lips as he moved his hands down to cup her ass through the silk.

“So, you see my problem,” she whispered, splaying her hands against his lower back. It was becoming difficult to focus, but she couldn’t let him win. “Should I just keep calling you Seth, then?”

“How about—” he slid his hand over her thigh, slipping his fingers between her legs. “You call me Seth, out there. In the real world. But here—” he slid his fingers further into her and her breath caught. “When it’s just us, call me—”

“Samael,” she breathed, her senses leaving her entirely as he pulled her on top of him.

#

“Hope. Samael.” Michael waved them both to seats across from him at the table in the council chamber.

Hope took the middle seat beside Gideon, Seth taking the one on the other side of her, reaching for her hand. She glanced over at him, then up at the softly glowing amethyst light, then down where it reflected across the glass table.

It really was pretty. Especially when her boyfriend wasn’t being impaled beneath it.

Gabriel and Azrael were seated to her left, Raphael to her right, an empty seat beside him.

Uriel’s seat.

Hope glanced at it, meeting Raphael’s eyes as she pulled her chair closer to the table, his expression difficult to read.

Azrael and Gabriel both grinned widely at Seth, their eyes sparkling. They looked happy he was back.

Hope squeezed his hand, feeling his ring press against her palm as she looked over to see a matching smile on his face.

Gideon winked at her as she shifted her gaze over to him, looking so much better than the last time she’d seen him. For one, he was clean, wearing a snug blue sweater the same shade as his eyes, his usual black jeans and boots gore-free. A scar, barely visible in the violet light, stretched from his chin along his jawline, nearly reaching his ear. She raised one eyebrow as she followed it—Gideon shook his head when he noticed, telling her he was okay.

“We have many things to discuss,” Michael started, his eyes flickering around to everyone before landing somewhere between Hope and Seth. “To begin with, can either of you explain how you managed to complete Gloria?” he asked. The object in question lay in the center of the table, the hilt facing them, all seven stones gleaming under the amethyst light.

“I’m not sure how Lucifer’s stone appeared,” Hope said, glancing at it before lifting her face to meet Michael’s eyes. “It must have been when he took it from me.” Then she realized. “Could it have been because he bled on the blade?” she asked, turning to Raphael.

Raphael raised his eyebrows, considering. Then did something resembling a shrug.

“That would make sense,” said Azrael slowly, her expression growing serious. “Since Samael’s blood touched the blade when Lucifer ran it through him. Blood magic is the most powerful of all.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Hope was able to wield it,” added Gabriel, frowning. “Why she was able to reclaim those souls. I thought only Father held that kind of power.”

Hope was at a loss. She had no idea why it worked. Gloria was only meant to be wielded by archangels. And she was definitely not one of those. In fact, with her—

“Looks like you’re Prophesy Girl, after all,” Gideon said just loud enough for her to hear, winking at her.

Hope rolled her eyes. “Please don’t ever call me that again,” she murmured back at him. Then more loudly, “I don’t think it was just me. Seth—Samael—he was the one to use Gloria against Lucifer. I was nearly dead at the time.”

“Nevertheless, it _was_ you who wielded it once it was complete. It was _you_ who turned the tide, who won the war for us,” Michael said. He gestured toward Gloria as he stared down at her, his expression stern and solemn. “By rights, she’s yours.”

Hope lowered her head, gazing at the sword as if it were a snake about to strike. “I don’t want it,” she whispered, lifting her head again to see everyone staring at her. She swallowed, her heart thudding against her ribs, her stomach queasy. “I never wanted it. I was just in the right place at the right time. Gideon could’ve just as easily—”

“No, I couldn’t,” he said, holding his hands up, affection in his eyes and in the slight smile on his lips. “You’re the one with both—”

“I don’t think that’s what the prophesy meant,” Seth protested. “The prophesy was referring to Gloria—she bound us together. We were able to complete and wield her because of who we both are.” He glanced down at the hilt, then met Michael’s eyes. “Not that I want her either, brother. Father left her for you. I think you should keep her.”

Michael held Seth’s gaze for a long time. Then he nodded, leaning over the table to grasp Gloria, sliding the blade toward him until he could reach the hilt. He wrapped his hand around it, lifting the sword to sheath it behind his back. Where it belonged.

And then Michael raised his head to Seth once more, a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

“This brings us to the next issue,” he said, starting to look decidedly uncomfortable. “Because Samael killed Lucifer—” he turned to Hope “—and you defeated Asmodeus, we are left with a Hell with no ruler. _Someone_ must take over the Hall of Anguish.” He dragged his eyes back to Seth, and Hope felt her blood turn to ice. “As Lucifer’s left hand, and the one to defeat him, you are the logical choice, Sam—”

“No!” cried Hope, leaping up from her chair. “You can’t!” She whirled to face Seth, her eyes pleading. “It’ll destroy everything good about you.”

Seth turned to her, his own expression haunted, but determined. “It’ll be chaos if I don’t. You think Lucifer’s rule was destructive? Without him, it’ll be a bloodbath, every would-be king of Hell doing whatever they can to prove themself.” One side of his lip curved as he turned back to Michael. “Lucifer was ruthless, merciless. But at least he knew how to lead. And, if nothing else, I knew how his mind worked—well, more than anyone else, anyway. I accept.” Hope opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, reaching for her hand. “On a temporary basis.”

Michael nodded, turning his steady gaze to Hope as he took a deep breath. Like he was bracing himself to deliver even more bad news. But what could be worse than condemning Seth to rule Hell?

Hope wasn’t keen to find out.

“We also find ourselves without an Archangel of Wisdom. Uriel is mortal now—his punishment for his betrayal in this matter. He cannot return to Heaven, and we need someone to take his place.” Michael’s eyes bored into hers—it took her a long moment to understand what he was implying.

“Me?” she squeaked, pointing at herself. “But I’m not an archangel. I’m—” something told her not to finish that thought. “There must be some rule against this.”

Michael’s expression softened. Slightly. “There are no rules. I do not think Father ever considered we would need to—well.” For a moment he actually looked nervous. Out of his element. But then one side of his mouth quirked up. “I think you possess more wisdom than you give yourself credit for. Certainly more than Uriel displayed of late.”

Hope snorted—that was an understatement. Only—her? As the pinnacle of wisdom? Hope nearly snickered again—but then she caught Raphael’s eye.

“I think you should give it to Raphael,” she said, turning back to Michael. “He’d be way better for the job than I could ever be.”

Raphael looked stunned, but not displeased.

Gabriel and Azrael glanced at each other, brows raised. Then they nodded their heads in agreement.

Michael inclined his head, considering it. Then opened his mouth to speak, but Hope cut him off.

“Give the Hall of Healing to Gideon.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten in his chair, a look of disbelief spreading across his face.

“You’d be perfect for it,” she murmured, shooting him a sly smile. “You _are_ his son, after all.” Then she dropped her eyes. “And I could help you, if you want. With the training.”

Gideon didn’t reply.

No one did, the entire room falling silent. Did everyone hate her idea that much?

She raised her head, feeling nervous as she saw a roomful of blue eyes, all trained on her. She wiped her palms against her legs, feeling like she needed to say something, anything. But she couldn’t speak.

Finally, Michael blinked as if coming out of a trance, and he smiled. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” he said softly.

The entire room seemed to relax, Hope’s shoulders sagging in relief. Michael looked at Raphael, then at Gideon—they both nodded, accepting their new roles. Then he leaned forward, pressing his hands against the edge of the glass table. “Well, then unless anyone else has anything—”

“Oh my God,” Hope blurted out without thinking. Everyone’s face snapped to hers again as she felt her cheeks burn. “Sorry. I just remembered something. It’s not important,” she mumbled, lowering her face.

Seth squeezed her hand as he leaned toward her. “What is it?”

“Chris’s wedding,” she whispered. “It’s in a couple of weeks. I don’t even know if I’m invited anymore. I haven’t talked to her since—”

“Maybe you should.”

She nodded. She should, now that the dust has settled. Now that Chris was truly safe.

If Chris even wanted to talk to _her_.

Seth squeezed her hand again. “If you need a date, I’m pretty sure I’m free.”

#

Hope couldn’t stop fidgeting in her chair, her coffee untouched.

It had been so long since she’d used her phone that when she found it—hidden at the bottom of her duffle bag—it had long died. She’d had to rummage among the clutter on her coffee table to find the charger. And as soon as she could turn on her phone, she groaned at the notifications—dozens of texts from Chris, a couple from Jake—asking about the divorce papers—and about a thousand emails. She ignored everything except the messages from Chris, feeling more than a pang of guilt at the sheer number of them. At least a couple of texts per day, asking if she was okay, asking her to respond.

But at least Chris didn’t hate her. Didn’t want to never speak to her again.

Hope wouldn’t have been surprised if Chris hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. Raphael said she wouldn’t remember anything from when she was possessed, but Stacey couldn’t have been pleased with the way Hope had left Chris that morning—filthy, unconscious, after being missing for days.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, although it had been little more than a week. So much had happened. Hope was still overwhelmed by it all, knew she hadn’t processed most of it. Maybe she never would. Not completely.

She reached for her cup, absently staring at the label. The barista wrote her name as “Home.”

“You’re alive!” Chris dropped into the seat across from her, a relieved smile on her face, her amber eyes dancing. “We were beginning to wonder.” She said it lightly enough, but a shadow stole across her face, showing Hope she wasn’t completely joking.

Hope let one corner of her mouth lift as she met Chris’s eyes. “I’ll tell you everything. But get a coffee first. A big one.”

Chris nodded, grinning as she rose to stand in line. Hope sipped her now-lukewarm coffee as she waited, trying to figure out where to even begin. She had so much to tell her, so much to explain, and most of it was going to be pretty hard to swallow.

She barely had time to organize her thoughts before Chris returned, plopping down in her seat a bit breathlessly, taking a large sip of her coffee. She winced, setting it down. “Too hot,” she explained, clearly trying for a neutral expression. But Hope could see the expectation in it.

Hope sighed, rummaging in her hoodie pocket for a hair elastic, using it to pull her hair back from her neck. She had so much to say, so many questions. “What do you remember last?” she finally asked.

Chris frowned, looking up like she was searching her brain. “I remember the funeral. And the interment,” she said. Then froze, alarm in her eyes. “And Lauren. She wasn’t—”

“Human. She was possessed. A demon.”

Chris, nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “That guy. Seth. He—”

“No,” Hope whispered, her own eyes burning. “I did. I had to.” She blinked, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Do you remember anything else?”

Chris paused, blinking as well. Then she shook her head. “Not really. It was cold and dark for a long time. I felt like I was fading, like someone—something was taking over.” A ghost of a smile. “Then I woke up on my couch early one morning and Stacey was completely freaking out. She said you told her you were sorry, that it was your fault. But you didn’t tell her _why_.”

“It _was_ my fault. You—” Hope made herself meet Chris’s gaze. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Chris nodded, looking uneasy. “Hit me, Grayson. I can take it.”

Hope took a deep breath, averting her eyes. “You were possessed. When Lauren died, the—the demon went inside you.” She heard Chris’s intake of breath, but she plunged on before she could lose her nerve. “We tried to exorcise the demon, but—” She cut herself off. She’s get to that, just—not now. “It didn’t work out.”

Chris was silent for a long time, long enough that Hope dragged her eyes back to her. Then decided to just rip the rest of the bandage off before she lost her nerve.

“I had to make a bargain with Lucifer to free you.”

Chris stared at Hope for a long time, not saying a word. Long enough that Hope felt herself growing anxious, but she wouldn’t let herself look away. As the moment stretched, the sounds of the coffeeshop seemed to fall away, replaced with an almost awkward silence between them.

Finally, a slow smile crept across Chris’s face. “You made a deal with the devil. For me?”

Hope felt herself smile faintly in return. “I had to.” Then it faded as Hope filled her in about everything else: the bargain, her father, Gloria, Seth’s capture—and then Gideon and Raphael, the battle with Lucifer, and the aftermath. As she talked, it felt like something came loose inside, like all the stress and disappointment and pain that built inside her could finally be set free. For the first time since the funeral, she felt like she could breathe deeply.

And then she was done.

Chris continued to hold her gaze, clearly stunned. Lost for words. Every time she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Until—

“Jesus Christ, girl,” she finally managed to say. Then she burst out laughing, Hope joining in, the last of her pent-up tension pouring out. As soon as one of them stopped, they glanced at the other and they started giggling all over again.

Hope was sure the other people thought they were crazy. She didn’t care.

Then, once they regained their composure, “I’m—I’m still invited to the wedding, right?” Hope asked.

Chris angled her head, giving Hope a sharp, assessing look. Like she knew what Hope was really asking. Then she grinned at her. “You’d better still be my best woman. I don’t have a backup.”

Hope grinned back. Then she remembered.

“The dress,” she breathed. “I never picked it up.” She sprang up, snatching her now-cold coffee cup from the table. “Is it too late if I go now?” Grabbing her phone, she looked at the time. Only four o’clock. The shop should still be open. She glanced at Chris as she stood, shrugging on her jacket.

“Compared to what you’ve been through, you have all the time in the world.” Chris dug around in her pocket, pulling out her keys with a wink. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

EPILOGUE

Hope raised her head as the music started, gazing down the aisle created by rows of white folding chairs, clutching a small bouquet of white roses.

The dress Chris had chosen for her hadn’t fit properly: it was far too long for her petite frame, the bust way too big, the waist falling over her hips. Altering it enough to work would have taken more time than they had.

While Chris and the shop owner had poured over a rack of smaller dresses, Hope came across a steel grey pinstriped three-piece suit, meant to fit a woman’s frame. Grabbing it, plus a white collarless button-front shirt, she tried it on. Just for fun.

It fit like it was made for her. The top of the shirt hit her neck in just the right place, the vest actually giving her the illusion of breasts. And the pants, although a bit long, fell in a smooth, straight line to the floor, making her look taller.

She’d nervously stepped out, the coat hooked to her finger over her shoulder; she loved it but wasn’t sure it would suit Chris. But Chris took one look at Hope and her face broke out in a wide grin. “Whoa. You look like _Peaky Blinders_.” Hope nodded and grinned back, pleased. “It’s perfect.”

Now, she tugged the vest down for the hundredth time, chiding herself to stop fidgeting as she glanced across the middle row of chairs, briefly meeting Seth’s eyes. He winked, then smirked as his eyes flickered down her body, making her blush. Narrowing her eyes at him for a brief moment, she turned her eyes back to the door.

Stacey walked through first, wearing a short-sleeved midriff-baring blouse and a full-length skirt, both red, both silk, both richly decorated with gold embroidery, the full pleats of the skirt swaying gently as she moved. Her brother, who walked her down the aisle, wore a simple black suit, keeping Stacey the focus of attention. She had a tremulous smile on her face as she made her way to the altar, her hair—pulled back in a long, thick braid—swinging across her back. Meeting Hope’s eyes briefly, her full red lips lifted a bit higher just before she turned, facing the crowd.

Then Chris appeared. She wore a simple white A-line dress, the sweetheart neckline showing just the right amount of cleavage—wedding cleavage, Hope had called it. A white gauzy shawl was draped over her shoulders, her auburn hair falling in soft waves, a larger bouquet of white roses clutched in her hands. She gave Hope a wink from the door, then sashayed down the aisle like she was walking a runway, her father hurrying to keep up, the guests erupting into laughter. When she reached the front, she grinned at Hope, lifting her skirts slightly before she turned to face the crowd. Hope had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Under her pristine white wedding dress, Chris was wearing bottle-green Doc Martin boots.

#

“I’ve never been so happy to be with someone in a suit,” Seth said, guiding her across the dance floor with a hand against the satin at her back. His feet were light, his body graceful as he swung her around—she moved in constant fear of stepping on his polished dress shoes.

“God, Seth is there nothing you can’t do well?” She groused as she felt herself stumble, Seth easily catching her, his hand slipping to her lower back to pull her closer.

“Nope.” He smirked, then planted a light kiss on her nose as she gazed up at him, frowning a bit.

“You’ve been with men before.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded, looking puzzled, then grinned, a wicked smile that changed his eyes to the same shade as her outfit.

“Yes, but they didn’t fill out a vest nearly as well as you do.”

Hope rolled her eyes as she looked over the shoulder of his well-tailored black suit, finding Chris and Stacey, their arms around each other, swaying like they were slow dancing, even though it wasn’t a slow song. She couldn’t help but smile at how happy, how content they both looked.

“How are we going to make this whole thing work?” She asked, turning back to Seth. “Me, mortal, living in Heaven, you, immortal, ruling Hell.” The words sounded ridiculous to her ears—she could hardly believe this was her life now.

Seth shrugged. “Every relationship has its quirks.” Then his expression grew more thoughtful. “We’ll make time for each other. Since I won’t be trying to raise a demonic army, and I’ll only be collecting souls that deserve to be there, I won’t be nearly as busy as Lucifer was. And neither will you, with fewer errant demons on Earth to hunt.” One side of his mouth lifted. “You might even find your new life to be positively boring.”

Hope gave him a long look, eyebrows raised. “Somehow, I don’t think being with you will bore me. Ever.” Then she paused, angling her head. They had moved off the dance floor and stood near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the ocean, the moon casting a long trail over the water.

Seth pressed her body against his, tipping her chin with his fingers to meet his eyes, which were now the colour of the ocean outside, the pupils wide and dark.

“Hope Grayson, you are anything but boring.” He brought her mouth to his. After a long moment, he pulled away, sliding his hand down her arm to grasp her fingers, leading her away from the window.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know that original works don't get the love that fan works do (and if you're interested, my fandom ao3 is Lunarwriter75) so if you like this _please_ leave a kudos or comment. It'll be how I know anyone's reading.


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